Carry Me Home
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Healing a broken body can be easier than healing a broken heart - just ask the Mavericks. Note - This is a sequel to "Jessie Maverick's Kin" and a prequel to "Fool's Gold" and "Don't Close Your Eyes"
1. Chapter 1 Heading South

Carry Me Home

Chapter 1 – Heading South

"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Bret." Bart Maverick wasn't complaining; he was simply stating a fact. When you'd been as broken as he was, spiritually, mentally and worst of all physically, bouncing around in a stage coach for three straight days wasn't helping matters any.

"We didn't have a lot of choice, Brother Bart, if we wanted to get to New Mexico. Had to take the stage to Denver. We'll be there soon. Then the train should be a lot easier on you." Bret was well aware of the physical strain this trip was taking on his younger brother. To say nothing of the mental need to put distance between himself and Silver Creek, Montana. A lovely little town, but not the place you wanted to remember when they'd almost hanged you for a murder you had nothing to do with.

Leaving had brought both pleasure and pain. There was family in Silver Creek, both kinds – old familiar and newly discovered. Some of the bonds with kin had been strengthened and some had been irretrievably lost. And some of the secrets kept hidden for decades were now forever buried, literally and figuratively. Best to leave both the town and the memories behind for a while and try to restore ones soul, spirit and body in another location.

So the travel had begun, and in a most distasteful way – by dirty, dusty stage coach. That was the only way to leave unless they were willing to wait weeks or months for the physical wounds of the youngest Maverick brother to heal – and the snow to close all the 'escape' routes for at least the winter. After almost a year in Silver Creek that was no choice at all. Here they were, Bart in true discomfort and Bret in mental consternation over his brother's pain, but at least this leg of the trip back to the warm winds of the southwest was almost through. They'd only have one overnight stay in Denver and then be on their way towards New Mexico, and the Double C Ranch, technically owned by Bart but physically occupied by Samantha Crawford.

Because of a promise made to Sam in a time of great stress – help him out of the mess he was in or die trying – he had entered into a marriage of convenience with her cousin Caroline. By the time it ended in tragedy the inconveniently married pair had fallen in love with each other. Which, by law, gave Bart ownership of the ranch. He would have none of it, and turned the Double C over to Samantha before he left New Mexico. She'd been trying to get him to come back and visit ever since. After the entanglements in Montana were straightened out Dry Springs, New Mexico seemed like the perfect solution. A place to rest and recuperate, with nothing required of him but healing. To avoid being caught in the north through the winter, the stage trip began.

Three days of dirt, dust and blowing around inside the coach like a dirty tumbleweed. Normally fastidious in their dress and appearance, comfort had finally won out and they looked more like saddle tramps than the professional gamblers they were. Both had traded fancy shirts and long coats for comfortable clothes, including Bart's buckskin jacket and Bret's leather vest. And guns. These days they went nowhere without a fully loaded Remington .45 Peacemaker. And Bret had given Bart his derringer, which the younger Maverick had started wearing in a shoulder holster, where it was more comfortable and easier to get to. No more 'unarmed' for either of them. It would be a pleasure to be able to bathe and change clothes in Denver. And then there was the train to look forward to, and the relative comfort it afforded.

First Bret had to deal with their luggage when they finally arrived. Both had learned a long time ago to pack only what they needed to survive, but spending almost a year in one place had forced them into a change of habit. Not only was there Bret's suitcase and Bart's suitcase, there was a brother now forced back into leaning heavily on the cane he was hoping to dispense with. Three days of being bounced and bumped all around the coach had dealt him a setback on his road to recovery. At last they were out of the coach and into the hotel. Bret tried to hurry the process as much as possible; Bart was feeling the effects of the constant bruising and needed to rest. The bags were turned over to the bellboy so that one brother could help get the other brother upstairs, not a quick or easy task.

Normally they would have had separate rooms but both agreed a shared room was best at this time. Especially with only one night to worry about. It took a while to get settled, with a bath each and getting presentably dressed, but they were finally able to go to dinner feeling clean and human. Bart's dinner was appreciably smaller than Bret's – Bret got the Maverick appetite, Bart didn't – and in times of stress Bart tended not to eat at all and lived mostly on black coffee. That was one of the things that worried the elder Maverick the most – how could you get your body and strength back if you didn't eat enough? Bart was adamant about eating what he wanted and nothing more; that was one battle Bret lost. After dinner they both enjoyed cigars and Bret debated playing poker but decided against it. He didn't want to get into another of those three day marathons and miss the train in the morning. As they were on their way back upstairs Clarence from the front desk flagged down Bret with a telegram. It was from Samantha and read:

_Let me know when arriving in Santé Fe_

_Will meet you at Dry Springs stage depot_

_Love, Sam_

As Bret read it, Clarence asked him a question: "Mr. Bret, did Mr. Bart get shot?" Clarence had worked the front desk at the Denver Palace Hotel as long as the Mavericks had been staying there. He was kind, efficient and, above all, discreet.

"No, Clarence, why do you ask?"

"I hate to say this, Mr. Bret, but he looks _**bad**_. So thin and pale. And needing a cane to walk? Sure looked like he was shot."

"Nope, not shot, Clarence. He was ill for a while, that's all. But he's over it now, and we're going somewhere to relax and get better."

"You tell him I said take care of himself. Sure no fun around here without the two of you." Bret smiled his appreciation for the kind words. "Thanks, I'll tell him that." He quickly climbed the steps to where they'd stopped and he'd left Bart.

"Anything exciting?" Bart inquired.

"Wire from Sam. Just wants me to let her know when we're getting to Santé Fe. I'll answer her in the morning. Let's get you upstairs and into bed. It's been a long day."

"Yes, Pappy," was his brothers reply.

"I'll take that as a compliment, son," came the retort in a voice mimicking their fathers. The imitation came naturally to Bret, who was the spitting image of Beauregard Maverick Senior. Bart, meanwhile, looked nothing like either of them, but rather heavily favored their deceased Aunt Jessie. Except for the height - both brothers were tall like Pappy.

"Come on, I'll even tuck you in," Bret added with a sly grin.

"Oh joy. Will you sing me a lullaby, too?"

"If I have to," came the reply.

"You have to."

2


	2. Chapter 2 Two Kings and a Queen

Carry Me Home

Chapter 2 – Two Kings and a Queen

Bret was right; it was much easier on the train. Leastways the train didn't bounce on the tracks, throwing its passengers to and fro. And there was no dirt and dust blowing inside, coating everything with a thick layer of grime. It hadn't been an easy night; after three days of constant bruising and bracing yourself against the next bump, Bart was sore everywhere. Bret didn't feel a lot better but he wasn't physically damaged to begin with.

As was their usual habit when traveling by train, the two brothers were playing poker. They alternated cheating depending on who was dealing the cards. It was a long standing tradition in the Maverick family. There was no 'gentlemen's gaming car' on this train so they were stuck with each other to while away the time.

"Did you remember to wire Sam?" Bart finally asked during one of the hands Bret dealt.

"You asked me that already."

"I did?"

"Yes. And yes, I wired Sam. She'll be there." Bret tried to determine why Bart sounded so anxious. He'd been to Dry Springs before, and to Santé Fe plenty of times. But he hadn't been there since – _'That's_ _right,'_ Bret thought to himself_. 'Bart hasn't been to the ranch since Caroline._' "Glad we got out of Montana when we did. There's got to be snow in the mountains by now."

"Yep, I'm sure there is. But it seems strange to be heading south and not looking out the window at it." Bart's answer was wistful. As if he missed it.

"Are you missing snow, Texas boy?" his brother asked.

Bart took his time answering. "No, not snow. People."

Bret kind of chuckled. "We could have stayed, ya know."

"No." The answer was immediate and firm. "I couldn't stay. Not one more minute."

It made perfect sense. Why would you want to remain in a place where you'd been beaten within an inch or your life AND almost hung? "We don't have to go visit Sam."

"I know." Bart sat quietly, contemplating the four queens his brother had dealt him. He knew that Bret was probably holding four kings. He threw his cards down. "Fold."

'What's bothering you?" Bret knew his brother would never have folded holding the four queens he'd been dealt if he didn't have something else on his mind.

"Huh? Nothing's bothering me. Why?"

"Because you folded with four queens in your hand."

"Gee, I wonder why. I don't suppose you had four kings in yours, did you?"

His feelings were hurt. He'd never be that obvious. "No, I didn't." Bart didn't even question that statement, so Bret volunteered, "I had four aces." Bart didn't pick up the deck of cards, rather turned and looked out the train window. It was a few minutes before he spoke.

"Am I just replacing one set of bad memories with another?"

Bret started shuffling the deck automatically. "I don't know, Bart. You're the only one who can answer that."

Bart let out a long, excruciating sigh. "I could use a drink about now."

Bret froze. Neither of them drank hard liquor. "You what?"

The younger gambler looked at his brother, startled. "I meant coffee. What did you think I meant?"

A nervous laugh. "I thought – oh, never mind what I thought. I'll see if there's some on board anywhere."

"Thanks, Bret. I think I could stand a nap."

XXXXXXXX

Late afternoon. The sun was warm for early winter but the days were short; it had already started to darken by the time the train pulled into the station in Santé Fe. Two days of riding the train was enough; both brothers were ready to reach Dry Springs and be done. Another overnight stay before tomorrow morning's coach.

They reached the hotel and checked in, again sharing a room. The rest of the evening closely paralleled their night in Denver, without Clarence around. Again Bret wired Samantha, telling her they'd arrive tomorrow. Bart was restless and didn't want to spend another night sitting in a hotel room, so he and Bret found a saloon. A nice, friendly little poker game with small table stakes, just something to while away the evening. Bret played and Bart nursed, as usual, several cups of black coffee. Unbeknownst to them there was a younger man in the bar who paid close attention to the brothers; but particularly to Bart. He observed the rather fragile physical state the gambler was in; just as well he was still in the midst of planning a bit of revenge in the future and not right now. His name was Donnie Monroe.

XXXXXXXX

Back to a day's worth of bouncing and bumping around in a stage coach – the only difference was no dirty and dusty wind. Bart hadn't slept well at all in Santé Fe and he was thoroughly worn out by the time they arrived in Dry Springs. Once again Bret got them off and out and settled all the bags on the sidewalk. Samantha Crawford was there in a moment, exiting the stage line office where she'd been waiting for a short while. She hesitated to throw her arms around Bart and kiss him, although that's what her first instinct was. He looked so frail and fragile. And thin! She made herself settle for a gentle, warm hug and a soft whisper in his ear, "Welcome home." Bret got no such restraint, she threw her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips. "Brother Bret, welcome back to Dry Springs." Bret hugged her back just as robustly.

"Miss Samantha. Charming as ever. Glad to finally be here."

Sam hugged Bret again and pulled his ear closer to her lips. "What in heaven's name have you done to this man? He looks like an old, tired-out skeleton," she whispered to him. He held her at arm's length and laughed as if sharing a joke.

"I tried to warn you," he told her through his laughter. "Didn't I?"

She laughed right along with him and returned to Bart, putting her arm through his on the side without the cane. "Come with me, child. The buckboard is right over here." She led him across the street while Bret gathered the bags. He carried them to the buckboard and set them down in the back to help Samantha get Bart in, then he helped her up. Last of all he got himself in. "Are we ready?" she asked to no one in particular as she urged the horses into a nice, easy canter.

The trip to the ranch was shorter than Bart recollected. It was funny, the little things you remembered. There was a new front door and the porch swing was gone. All of the beautiful flowers had disappeared and there were little scrub bushes in their place. The corral had been expanded and there were horses running free inside it. Jess was still there, leaning on the fence and waiting for their arrival. He was smiling as he took the reins from Samantha and tied them to the hitching post. "Mr. Bart! Mr. Bret. So happy to see both of you. I'll get the bags. Welcome back." Bret climbed down and shook Jess's hand, then helped Samantha and Bart out of the buckboard. Jess threw his arms around Bart in a bear hug and got a startled look on his face when he realized just how little of Bart there was under the coat. Bret helped Jess with the bags and followed Sam inside. Bart stopped on the porch for a minute and looked around. Everything was the same, yet everything was different. This was Samantha's home now, not Caroline's.

Inside was different, too. The stone fireplace was still there but there were three large, comfortable looking chairs in front of it and a settee had been added along the far wall. The dining table was different, too. Smaller and more intimate. There was a rug covering the place on the floor where Caroline bled and died.

Bret and Jess carried the bags upstairs and left them in the main hall. Samantha led Bart over to the chairs in front of the fireplace and made him sit down.

"You stay here, Bart, Jess made a fresh pot of coffee for us. I'll go and get it."

Bret followed Samantha into the kitchen area. "For God's sake, Bret Maverick, what did you do to that boy?" She turned on Bret with a fury. "In all the years I've known the two of you he's never looked like that!"

"Not now, Sam. We'll talk tonight."

"You bet we will." She took the coffee pot and three cups with her, back to the fireplace. She poured Bart a cup and handed it to him, then one for Bret. She could only pour herself half a cup; she walked over to the table and filled the remainder of the cup with whiskey. She needed it right now, after getting a good look at Bart and realizing what poor shape he was really in. She took a big swallow and turned back to her two friends.

"So what's new, boys?"


	3. Chapter 3 Everything That

Carry Me Home

Chapter 3 – Everything That's Different is the Same

Samantha had changed the bedrooms around upstairs. The room that was Caroline's was now a sitting room, with a big library full of books in it. Bart's room had become Sam's; it still had a private bath. The two spare bedrooms remained the same; Bret moved his bag into one and Bart's into the other. After supper Bart pleaded exhaustion and retired, which left Bret and Sam downstairs free to talk. They sat in the big chairs and Bret started a fire. The nights got chilly this time of year and firewood was stacked inside the door.

She poured more coffee and glanced upstairs before speaking. "It can't be easy for him to be here, you know."

Bret nodded agreement. "I'm sure it's not. At least the place looks different. That's got to help some."

"Not enough. Did you see the way he inspected everything?"

"That's only natural, Sam. The last time he was in this house, Caroline died. That's all he can think of."

He watched Sam drink her coffee and ponder the incidents of that day. They'd talked about it many times and he was well aware of the sequence of events. "He killed a man here, too, you know."

"The man that murdered the woman he loved."

"I wonder if he even remembers that." Sam shook her head as she said it. "I guess it's not really important if he remembers it."

"No, it's not important enough to remember. And the rest of it he needs to forget."

"So tell me about Montana." She waited for a moment, and when Bret didn't start right away, she added, "About ALL of Montana."

For the next hour he told her everything he knew and could remember about the time spent in Silver Creek. He had a difficult time recounting the morning he and Beau found Bart in the hotel and the second of Bart's collapses in the courtroom. When he was finished Sam had big tears running down her face. "How awful" was the only thing she could say.

"I can't imagine how much he suffered." This from Bret. It wasn't much, but it was the truth.

Sam looked at Bret with sympathy. "Not just Bart – you and Beau, too. And Pappy. To watch what he was going through and not be able to help? I see the pain in your eyes when you look at him. It still hurts, doesn't it?"

Talking to Sam like this wasn't easy. She was right; every time he looked at his brother it was painful. What she didn't understand was that he felt the pain because there was nothing he could do to help. Nothing but try to take care of Bart until he was capable once again of taking care of himself.

"Well, Sam, that's what we came here for. So that you and I can keep him here to rest and relax. And eat. We've got to get some food in him. He's not much besides skin and bones."

"I can see that. You know cooking is not my best skill." She smiled at him and gave him just a little of the southern accent and charm. "I hired a cook to take care of the three of us. She's wonderful. Her name is Florita and she comes in every mornin'. Guaranteed to put some meat back on him. The rest is up to us."

"Yeah, all we have to do is get him to eat." Bret told her about Bart's recent war against food. "You know he was never a big eater, but he quits altogether when something's bothering him. I don't know how he can live like that."

Sam changed chairs, so that she was sitting next to Bret rather than facing him. She didn't want to see his face when she asked him, "Did he talk about Caroline much?"

"Nope. Not at all there at the end of the trial. I don't know how much he thought about her, though. I was gone a lot looking for Meyers. We didn't have time for a lot of conversations. I was a little busy trying to stop him from being found guilty and hung."

"You and Beau are the ones that saved him. You did everything you could."

He shook his head. "No, I didn't do it fast enough. That last time when he collapsed in court – if I'd gone after Meyers sooner that might not have happened. We came so close to losing him, Sam."

"But you didn't lose him, Bret. That's the important part." She looked away for a moment before she asked the next question. "Did he have a – uh, a 'romantic entanglement' of any kind in Montana? Before all this happened, I mean?"

Bret laughed out loud. "Are you jealous, Samantha Crawford?"

"No." The denial came quickly, along with a shake of her head. "I just wondered about, I mean after, you know, Caroline?"

"None after he came back from Mexico that I know of. We've stayed pretty close since then. At least nothing serious."

Samantha let out a small sigh. "Maybe we can fix that, too."

"Don't you go playing matchmaker, missy. Let's just see if we can get him healthy."

"That's just what I intend to do." Those were her final words of the night on the subject.

XXXXXXXX

Bart knew that Samantha wanted to talk to Bret alone so he pleaded exhaustion and went upstairs. Painfully upstairs. His mind hurt almost more than his body, this first night back in what had once been his home for a short time. His and Caroline's.

He was glad that Sam had changed things around; somehow it made it easier to come back here and see it look differently. He was particularly glad to be in a new bedroom, considering that the last night he ever spent sleeping in the other room was with his wife. Well, sort of sleeping. At least he didn't have memories of Caroline associated with this room.

But he did have those memories in his head. He'd given in to them in Mexico, then put them away in his heart when the three Maverick boys had gone to Montana. There wasn't time for them at first. But he spent so long in a jail cell that they'd re-surfaced of their own accord. Ever since the pistol-whipping that almost killed him something hadn't been quite right and he wondered if it would ever be again. He knew that coming to stay at the ranch with Sam would be mentally and emotionally difficult, but where else was he to go? Back to Texas with Pappy? They were getting along better than they had in a while but staying with his father was not his idea of a way to recuperate. He loved and respected Pappy but the man was not the easiest person in the world to live with. With his friend Anderson Garrett? Just what Anderson needed, a mentally crippled gambler who had no current desire to pick up a deck of cards. Who was left?

Bret was as un-anchored as he was, and it might do both of them some good to step away for a while. Bart had some money put away for a 'rainy' day, and from where he lay it was quite a downpour. Hard to lose your stake playing poker when you're sitting in a jail cell. So here they were in New Mexico. All he had to do was let his body regain its strength and stay out of trouble. And die of boredom.

Better than a rope.


	4. Chapter 4 Muy Hermoso

Carry Me Home

Chapter 4 – Muy Hermoso

The next morning was cooler and it was easy to remain in bed. Especially if you didn't fall asleep until the somewhere around dawn. No matter how tired he was his mind just kept spinning until it finally wore itself out and gave in. Every noise he heard was Caroline. Every sound the house made was Caroline. Every rooster that crowed or dog that barked was Caroline. She was everywhere, at least in his mind. At sunrise dancing with the demons finally overtook him and blessed sleep overwhelmed him.

Sleep didn't bring peace, however. She was everywhere in his dreams, as if he'd just seen her yesterday. She hadn't haunted him like this since he first escaped to Mexico almost two years ago. Was it a mistake to come back to the ranch since it seemed to trigger all the memories? Maybe that's why he'd put it off for so long.

As he lay in bed and listened to the breezes blow the cool air in the windows a thought crossed his mind. Could be it didn't have anything to do with the ranch. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with loss that he really hadn't faced until now. Great. Out of the Montana frying pan and into the New Mexico fire. With that delightful thought on his mind he decided it was time to get out of bed, whatever time that was.

Dressed and hungry for more than coffee, he headed downstairs the way he had so many mornings in this place. He'd been healthier the last time he walked down these steps, even having taken a bullet in the shoulder. His mind was just as troubled as then; now aided and abetted by the confusion that set in with the seizures in Montana. Hadn't he come here to heal, both in mind and body? Then why was he feeling so much worse than when the stage pulled out of Silver Creek? He realized that he'd stopped in the middle of the stairs, in the very spot he stood when he watched Caroline murdered. Where he shot and killed Lon Tenley. Where his whole life changed in an instant, not necessarily for the better.

He knew that Samantha was sitting at the table drinking coffee and watching him. He looked down at her and forced a smile, wiling her to accept his greeting without questioning the meaning behind it. "Good morning," he offered.

"Good afternoon, darlin'," she answered. "How about some breakfast?"

"For lunch?" he joked.

"Bart, darlin', you know my philosophy. Breakfast is when you get up, no matter what time of day it actually is. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, just fine."

She laughed at him. "Liar."

"Alright, not so fine." He reached the table and sat down, leaning the cane he was using against an empty chair. "I had a lot on my mind."

"I'll just bet you did," Sam told him, then turned toward the pantry and asked appealingly, "Florita, darlin', can you please fix Bart some bacon and eggs? And toast?"

"Si, Señorita," was heard from the pantry area.

Bart's eyebrow shot up and he posed the question to Samantha, "A cook? You, finally?"

"Yes sir," was her answer. "Did you think along with everything else around here that I'd learned to cook? That's one thing I stay away from. Florita will take care of us."

He had to chuckle at that remark. "I always knew you were a smart girl, Sam. And who is the lovely Florita?"

"Miss Florita, can you please come meet my other guest?"

Bart expected someone like Lily Mae, Uncle Ben's housekeeper and cook, that he and the other Maverick boys had grown up around. Instead he saw a beautiful Hispanic girl, no more than 17 or 18, with long black hair and fire in her eyes.

"Bart Maverick, met Florita LaDonza. Miss Florita, this is Mr. Bart Maverick, Bret's younger brother."

He stood and took her hand. "Florita LaDonza. Quite an unusual combination."

She smiled at him shyly. "Si, Señor. My father is from Italy. Please call me Florita. I have met your brother. He is . . . . bastante encantador."

"I'm sure he thinks he is, Florita. It's my pleasure to meet you." He had no hat on to tip to the young woman so he kissed the back of her hand. She giggled and blushed, and hurried back into the pantry. Bart sat back down with an amused expression on his face.

Sam poured coffee into the empty cup she had on the table waiting for him. "Take that silly smile off your face, Bart Maverick," she chastised him. "That's a YOUNG woman. Emphasis on YOUNG."

"I was just thinking how much prettier the scenery got around here, that's ALL," Bart shot back at her. Then he smiled.

Florita took a peek from the pantry. "Muy hermoso," she whispered to the breakfast she was cooking for him.

XXXXXXXX

Bret had gotten up, eaten breakfast with Samantha, and gone out to the barn to see Jess Parker and Jimmy Whitlaw; both still worked on the ranch. They talked for a while and Jimmy went back to grooming horses. Jess and Bret walked out into the paddock area.

"See the herd's increased, Jess," Bret stated, pointing at the horses in the corral. "You got that many hands working the cattle?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Bret. Twenty-one men as of last week. Herd's over fifteen thousand. Just about ready to drive half into Dry Springs to the cattle broker there. Then start building back up for spring. Miss Sam's doin' right well fer not knowin' anythin' about 'em when she got here."

"Never thought I'd see the day Samantha Crawford was legitimate," Bret said under his breath. Out loud he told Jess, "She had you to guide her, Jess. She couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks, Mr. Bret. I appreciate that, even if it ain't near true. Say, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Jess. What is it?" Bret had a hunch he knew what was coming.

"Mr. Bart. What happened to him? He looks awful. When I saw him yesterday . . . ." Jess asked his question quietly, almost afraid of the answer he would get.

Bret shook his head. "It's a long story, Jess. A lot of things bad happened in Montana. Somebody tried to kill him. They almost succeeded. We came out here to see Sam and to get him healthy again."

"Well, we sure are glad to see him, Mr. Bret. He made our lives a lot easier, and Miss Caroline's a lot happier, short as it was. We were all real sorry when he left the Double C, but we all understood. So's if there's anythin' we can do to help, just let us know."

Bret was genuinely touched to know that the ranch hands thought so much of his brother. "Thanks, Jess, I sure will. Next time Sam goes out to check the herd, I'll come with her. We'll get Bart out there, too, one of these days." He walked back to the house, thinking about what Jess had told him. Yep, Bart might not like honest work anymore than he did, but when push came to shove his brother did it, and he did it well. He just wouldn't take any credit for it.

XXXXXXXX

Florita's breakfast was delicious, and Bart finished every last bite. Samantha sat at the table with him and they talked about the Double C and how much she had learned about running a cattle ranch. Regardless of the knowledge she'd gained over the last two years, there were still some things she wasn't sure of, and Bart was glad to give her any help he could. At least in the "How do I . . . . . ?" department.

Bret returned to the house right after Bart finished with breakfast and was happy to see that his brother consumed more than just a cup of coffee. That sounded good to Bret, however, and Florita provided them with a fresh pot of the black liquid. The three of them sat and talked for another hour, about cattle and grazing land and cowhands and even the re-decorated house. Everything but the two things they needed to talk about.

Sam knew it was only a matter of time until she could sit down alone with Bart and try to talk about the goings on in Montana and his life since leaving the ranch. They'd only corresponded by letter and he could be extremely close-mouthed when he wanted to be. If she wanted to hear the whole story she'd have to talk to him when there was no chance of Bret interrupting them; there were things in Bart Maverick's life that even his brother didn't know, and they were extremely close for siblings. She needed some supplies from the general store in Dry Springs; maybe she could sweet talk Bret into taking the buckboard and going after those for her. That would give her and Bart an entire afternoon. She didn't believe that one afternoon would solve the problems that existed in his head and heart, but it would go a long way towards opening up the path of least resistance. Now was as good a time as any to bring up the request for help.

"Bret, darlin', there's a whole passel of things the ranch needs in town at the store. If I give you a list, do you think you could do me the biggest favor in the whole wide world and go get everything for me tomorrow? It would surely be a big help."

Bret watched Sam's face, especially her eyes, as she asked him for the favor. He could always tell by her eyes if she was pulling a con or not. He suspected that what she wanted was some alone time with Bart to do some fancy detective work on his brother without him around. He knew that Bart was a secret-keeper; he had been since he was a little boy. Bret suspected that if anyone could pry Bart's deepest, darkest secrets, fears or worries out of him, it would be Samantha. Maybe if she could get him to talk about things that he'd kept bottled up it would help him start to heal.

"I can do that for you, Sam. How much is there? Should I take Jess with me?" If she was gonna send him on an errand, it best be a real one.

"That's probably not a bad idea, Bret. That way you all could pick up the grain I ordered for the chickens and make it in one load."

"Sure. I can get Jess to head on over with me right after Florita's breakfast in the morning." _'I'm not_ _missing one of those',_ he thought to himself.

Bart sat and listened to the polite little charade between his brother and his 'cousin-in-law' Samantha and felt he deserved credit for not laughing out loud at them both. It was obvious Sam wanted to talk to him, alone, and that Bret was agreeing to the 'favor' to accommodate her need. She could have just come out and told him what she wanted.

So much had happened after Caroline's death, and so little had been said to each other by the people that loved her most in the world, her cousin and her husband. Bart had packed and escaped the house and its reminders the day they put Caroline in the ground. Samantha hadn't seen him since; there were still unresolved issues between them. And now Bart had come home to the ranch, broken in mind and body, to try and restore himself again. The air between them must be cleared. Private demons plagued her dear friend and she had to help banish them. Whether he wanted her help or not. She didn't know how much he needed it.


	5. Chapter 5 All I Have to do is Dream

Carry Me Home

Chapter 5 – All I Have to do is Dream

"Does she cook like that all the time?" The question was Bart's, as he finished another of Florita LaDonza's fabulous breakfasts.

"Every meal," Samantha replied. "Why do you think she only does breakfast and dinner? No one would ever get any work done around here with lunch served, too."

Bart sat back in the chair and finished the last of his coffee. Bret and Jess had just left for town and he imagined it wouldn't take Sam long to start trying to get inside his head. He was absolutely right.

"So Bret gave me a little bit of detail about the go'ins on in Montana. Want to tell me the rest of the story?"

One of his standard answers. "No."

"You should talk about it."

"Hmmmf. Why?"

"You need to talk about it." Sam corrected herself.

"No, I don't."

She tried a different path down the same street. "Bret told me about the seizures. They could have come from worry."

That merited a laugh. "Thank you, Dr. Crawford."

Oh dear, now he'd done it. Samantha pouted. "That's not funny. I'm only trying to help."

Bart didn't mean to hurt her feelings, he was just trying to be honest. "Help what, Sam? Me or your curiosity?"

Hard to be mad at Bart when he was correct. "Not fair. You know I love you."

"You do?" His tone was incredulous. "I bet you say that to all the boys."

"I don't talk to boys. You know that. And you know how I meant it." There was just a tiny bit of genuine hurt in her eyes and Bart thought he better back-pedal some.

"I'm sorry. I do know how you meant it." He paused and sighed, more with resignation than anything. "There's not a lot to tell. I don't remember most of it."

"Tell me what you do remember."

"About the beating?"

"About everything."

"It was a beating. The intent was to kill me. It didn't work."

"What do you remember afterward?"

He shook his head gently. Everything was still jumbled up from that night. "I remember Bret. His voice. Talking to me, telling me to stay with him. Begging me to stay. And Caroline." He stopped talking for a minute, almost overwhelmed by emotion. Then he started again. "And momma was there. Momma and Caroline. I was willing to go with them, both of them. They told me to stay, too. All three of them." That was all he had for her. Everything else was just a hodge-podge.

She wanted to push on, while he was still willing to talk to her. "What about the seizures?"

There was silence for a few moments as Bart went back to that first seizure in his jail cell. "The trial had started. Doc Washburn testified that day, even though he didn't want to. Beau came back to the jail cell and we talked. When he left for the night I just fell apart. I was freezing cold and sopping wet with sweat at the same time. My head was pounding and it hurt like it hell. I couldn't breathe. I heard some big noise, like somebody dropped something. Then – I don't know."

Sam was surprised he remembered that much. "When did you wake up?"

"The next day. I was shaky and weak. My head hurt. That's pretty much all."

She was going to tread carefully here. "What were you and Beau talking about?"

That he remembered. "Just things. If the trial didn't go well, there were details he needed to know. Like about Caroline. He still doesn't know about her. I didn't tell him. Bret wasn't there; I couldn't tell him. So I told Beau."

"Why haven't you told Beau about Caroline?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he fell in love with Georgia. He was supposed to marry her, you know. I don't know what's happened. I haven't heard anything in a while."

"And your Pappy?"

"Oh, Pappy knows. About Caroline, at least. I don't know what else. Bret told him behind my back." Bart got up from the table and picked up his cane. "I'm sort of glad he did. Saved me the trouble."

Samantha was sympathetic to that. Beauregard Maverick was a character. At least Bart didn't have to deal with his father's disdain.

"How did Pappy take it?"

"Rather well, considering. He wasn't happy that I hadn't told him, but he seemed to understand. Maybe it had something to do my scheduled hanging."

Samantha remained silent. Who knew why Pappy did anything?

"No more questions, Sam?" Bart had an unpleasant edge in his voice. Even though he knew she wanted to help him straighten out whatever was eating away at his insides, he didn't like being pressured into talking about it.

There was more sympathy and compassion in her voice than he'd heard since the day Caroline died. "No, Bart, no more questions. At least for now. I think that's enough for one day."

He took a step toward the front door. "Good. I need some air. Can I take a chair with me?"

"Certainly. Randy is making me some new chairs for the porch. I didn't like the swing. Too lonely."

Bart chuckled. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

She watched him walk outside with the chair_. 'No wonder he's such a mess,'_ she thought to herself. _'Who wouldn't be?'_

He maneuvered the chair out onto the porch and sat down in it. Doc Washburn had advised him to stay away from the cigars until he was feeling better, but right now he wanted nothing more than a good smoke. He checked his coat pocket and pulled one out, along with a match, which he struck on the chair. Ah, that tasted good! He sat back and looked out over the front 'yard' of the house as he smoked. Minutes passed as his mind wandered; the cigar went out from lack of attention. How many times had he ridden up to the hitching rail at the end of a day and sat on the porch swing, waiting for Caroline to join him? Not enough, he knew now. If he could just go back in time and stop her from coming in that front door . . . . . .

_He rested his arm on the back of the swing, behind Caroline's shoulders. After all this time together it still sent a chill up his spine to touch her, and he waited with eager anticipation for that moment. Belle and Bret played in the front yard, running and yelling and laughing as loud as any other four year olds. Bret threw a pretend stick at his twin and Belle threw it right back. No sissy girl was the older of the two; she was a tomboy through and through. "Stop it, Belle!" her mother yelled at her from the porch._

"_Aw, let her alone," Bart responded to his wife. "Somebody has to keep her brother in line – it might as well be her."_

"_Honestly, Bart, I think you enjoy the fact that she's never going to grow up to be a lady." Caroline was laughing as she said it._

_He laughed right along with her. "I do at that. It's her Uncle Bret's fault; he made her that way. Maybe it would help if Aunt Jody came to visit more often? If she could take time away from the saloon."_

"_We got a letter from her today. She's coming for a visit this summer. Said she and Travis need time away from everything in Silver Creek. The town's growing like wildfire and the two of them are so busy they don't get to spend enough time together."_

"_Good. I'm glad they're coming. Even if she did marry a lawman."_

_There was a shriek from one of the twins and Bret ran for the porch, crying. "DADDY!" He ran into his father's arms and sobbed. "Belle hit me for real! Make her stop!" Bart held the little boy close to him while Caroline beckoned their daughter over. "Belle Samantha Maverick! You get over here right now."_

_Belle scurried over to the porch and laid her head in her mother's lap, right next to where the new baby was growing. She looked up with her mother's big brown eyes and smiled that charming Maverick smile. "I didn't hit him, momma. He's just a big baby, just like Uncle Bret."_

_Bart pulled his son away from his shoulder and looked in his eyes. "Is that true, Bret?"_

_The little boy cast his eyes downward and quietly whispered, "Yes, sir."_

_Bart sighed and held him close again, shaking his head all the while. "Why do you tell stories like that, son? Are you trying to get Belle in trouble?"_

_There was a mischievous gleam in Bret's eyes as he answered honestly, "Yes, daddy."_

_Bart laughed again. "Just like your Uncle, aren't you?" He held the wiggling four year old high in his arms and continued laughing. "What am I going to do with you?" he wondered out loud. _

"_Play cards with me, Daddy." The four year olds immediate answer. _

"_Me too," Belle demanded enthusiastically. _

"_You heard them," Caroline offered. "Take them in and play. I'll finish supper."_

"_Alright, sweet thing," he answered his wife. He set Bret down on the ground and helped Caroline to her feet. It wouldn't be long now before the baby was born. His Brother Bret and sweet Lily, his wife, were coming to stay for a while and help with the twins when the newest member of the Maverick clan arrived. The twins ran inside the house, ahead of their mother and father. From professional gambler to family man and rancher, who would have believed it? Certainly not him, he thought as he followed the love of his life and their almost three children inside . . . . . . ._

"Bart, Bart, wake up." It was Sam, shaking him awake. "You fell asleep out here. Wouldn't it be more comfortable inside?"


	6. Chapter 6 Ghosts and Graveyards

Carry Me Home

Chapter 6 – Ghosts and Graveyards

He had her. He had her in his grasp and she'd slipped away. Like she'd slipped away so many other times. But this one was even more painful than the last few had been. This was their family – Bart and Caroline and Belle and Bret – and the new baby – boy or girl? – and they were right there with him, and then – nothing.

"Bart?" Back in the real world, Samantha called him. The look in his eyes when she woke him; the look on his face. Was he dreaming? About Montana, perhaps? No, the look was too peaceful, too joyous to be Montana. Caroline? Had being at the ranch triggered a reaction? Had he done the wrong thing by coming here? Sam didn't believe that. Memories were memories, and you faced them and moved on with your life. Bart Maverick had done neither.

"Sam?" Why did she have to wake him? It was so good, so perfect. He wanted Caroline back; Caroline and the babies. The little boy that looked just like him but had his brother's name; the little girl, with her mother's eyes and his mother's name. He wanted that reality; needed that reality. But it wasn't real, and he knew it. "What did you want, Sam?"

She searched his eyes for some hint of what he'd lost just then. All she could see was pain. And then the pain was gone in an instant and he was with her, here, again. "I'm sorry for waking you. I just thought you'd be more comfortable inside."

More comfortable inside? "I'm fine, Sam. I just dozed off." The mask had fallen back in place and all she could see was Bart Maverick.

"I'm going down to the south pasture to check in with Jimmy and the herd. I was gonna take the buggy. Do you want to come with me?"

That was the last thing he wanted to do right now. "Sure."

"Then just wait here, I'll be back with the buggy in a few minutes."

Bart nodded. Where else would he go? Best to humor Sam right now, he had the feeling he'd disappointed her once today, already. Did that mean she was going to hitch up the horses? Jess had gone with Bret to town and Jimmy was with the herd. If she did, then the Samantha Crawford that he used to know really had changed. The frail southern beauty was still a persona in her repertoire, but no longer the real girl. This he had to see.

He walked with her out to the barn and they talked about all the plans Sam had for the ranch. She was looking forward to doing quite a bit of expanding and he was impressed with how savvy she seemed to be when it came to the budget all of her plans would take. She still had some money left from Caroline's estate – money that belonged to Bart, which he wouldn't accept – and after the 7,500 head of cattle were sold she'd have almost enough to cover all the expenses.

"How short are you going to be?" He wasn't humoring her, he really wanted to know.

"Only about $2,000.00. What I can't do now will have to be done in spring, but that's alright. The last work will be done inside the barn, so it can wait a few months. What do you think?"

He was fascinated with this new woman. Sam really had learned a lot in a short period, and changed into someone he barely knew. "I think you're not the same person you were two years ago."

She snorted with laughter. "I should hope not! That little ninny wouldn't have survived out here. I'd still be sashayin' into drawin' rooms and connin' my way into poker games. No, that Samantha Crawford is long gone, I'm afraid."

He'd watched her deftly harness and hook up the horses to the buggy, helping as much as he could. "I like the new Sam Crawford," he told her. 'She's got a backbone made of iron."

"Thank you," she answered while climbing into the buggy. "I think." She handed him the reins. "Do you remember how to get to the south pasture?"

"You bet I do." He called 'giddup' to the horses and they went the back way out of the barn and headed south. It was the first time Bart had taken the reins on a buggy in a long time. The ride was a familiar one, what had changed was the road to get there. Once nothing more than a horse trail, now it was a full blown dirt road, wide enough for a wagon.

XXXXXXXX

Bart knew about half of the hands riding herd in the south meadow and they were all happy he'd come down. It was nice the see familiar faces. His buckskin jacket afforded him the ability to conceal how very thin he was, so there were no prying questions. Sam simply told those who knew Bart that he'd been ill. It was easy to talk cattle with the boys while Sam got the information she wanted. When they were done Samantha took the reins and headed northeast, to a place she knew Bart hadn't been and probably wouldn't go, given the choice. The graveyard behind the little church where Bart and Caroline were married.

She kept waiting for a reaction from him; a protest, a complaint, any kind of response. Just like the day Caroline was buried, there was none. She pulled the horses up to the graveyard gate and stopped. She laid the reins down on the side of the seat and looked at Bart. There was a grim, unhappy look on his face. "Dirty trick, Samantha."

She wasn't going to apologize for what she'd done. She got down out of the buggy, walked around to Bart's side and held out her hand. "Come on, I want you to see. I think she'd like it." She stood like that, with her hand outstretched, for almost a full minute. Determining that Samantha was serious and wouldn't stop insisting he go with her, Bart finally got down awkwardly and took her hand. He opened the gate for her and they walked to the grave, which was now marked with a beautiful wooden cross, on which was written 'Caroline Maverick' and 'She Loved', along with the year of birth and year of death. Without turning his head or lifting his eyes, Bart asked a simple question.

"Why, Sam? Why did you bring me here?"

She turned to the grave. "Because she was my cousin, and despite what some people may think, I loved her very much." And then she turned back to face him. "And because she was your wife, and I know you loved her very much. And you never mourned her. You packed your bags and ran. Like the coward you pretend to be."

She let go of his hand and walked back to the horses.

Bart stood at Caroline's grave and looked at her marker. He remembered the last thing he said to her and he repeated it now. "I love you too." Then he turned and left the grave.


	7. Chapter 7 Southern Ladies

Carry Me Home

Chapter 7 – Southern Ladies and Gentlemen Gamblers

Not a word was spoken by Samantha or Bart all the way back to the ranch. Jess and Bret were home from Dry Springs and Jess took charge of the horses and buggy. Bart got out carefully and attempted to help Sam down; she ignored him and got out by herself. She walked into the house while he stood on the porch. Bret looked up from his chair in front of the fire and put his coffee down.

"Got everything on your list, Sam."

"Thank you, Bret. I have a headache; I'm going to my room. I'll be down for supper." With that Sam swept up the staircase and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Bart finally got in the front door.

"Is Samantha alright?" Bret asked innocently.

"No." Bart's frame of mind wasn't any better than Sam's. He took the chair to Bret's left, not really wanting to make small talk with his brother but not willing to go to his room and be alone, either. Maybe Bret wouldn't care to talk. Fat chance of that.

"Did you two have a disagreement?" This was the next innocent question Bret asked.

"No," Bart answered. "We had a fight."

"Oh." Maybe now was a good time to stop asking questions. Well, he might as well be three for three. "What about?"

"Graveyards." Just as Bart started to elaborate, Florita entered the room carrying a cup of coffee.

"Señor Bart." She handed it to him and took the cane from him, leaning it against the chair where he could easily reach it.

"Gracias." Bart watched her walk back to the pantry and sighed. At least he'd get a decent cup of coffee this afternoon.

"Uh, Brother Bart?"

"Yes, Bret?" He was in no mood to explain what happened between him and Samantha to his brother.

"Never mind." Bret knew that tone of voice and had no desire to get into an altercation.

"Good choice." They sat in silence for a few minutes; Bart wondering how to make things right with Samantha and Bret wondering how things could go so wrong so fast. Finally Bart broke the silence. "Sorry. You didn't do anything."

"Did Sam?" Bart knew better than to give Bret an opening like that, but he'd done it anyway. _'Alright,_ _Bart,'_ he thought, _'you left the window open, now close it.'_

"Yes." Whatever had put Bart into this mood, he still wasn't out of it. "She took me to the graveyard."

The last of the innocent questions. "And that was a bad thing?"

"Yes, it was a bad thing."

Another minutes long silence ensued while both drank their coffee. Finally Bret asked the worst question he could have asked. "When was the last time you were there?"

At first the answer was stony silence. Finally the words came. "The day we buried my wife."

XXXXXXXX

Samantha sat in her bedroom and clenched and unclenched her fists. She didn't know why she'd gotten so angry at Bart; she just had. The things she'd said to him were not kind, to say the least. And they weren't true. He hadn't run out on her or anyone else. He simply couldn't stay in the house and face the specter of his dead wife. Not when he'd just realized he was in love with her, and he believed it to be his fault that she was dead. Sam was angry; he'd left her there with a ranch that she didn't know how to run and she had to learn everything the hard way. He could have made her life so much easier if he'd stayed and helped her get things working smoothly. But he hadn't; he couldn't; and she'd been mad at him ever since.

And then he spent a year in Montana and almost got himself killed. And look at him now – still not well; using a cane just to get around; and so thin that a good strong gust of wind – she found herself getting angry all over again. Why? Why had he stayed away not quite long enough for her to get over these feelings? And come back now, almost physically destroyed, certainly mentally distressed, and needing her help more than ever? And why did she still love him?

XXXXXXXX

Bret didn't dare say anything. He wasn't sure if Bart was annoyed, miserable, depressed or just crazy, and he wasn't willing to find out. The brothers sat in silence, side by side, and drank coffee. Soon Florita came back with the coffee pot and filled their cups again. Gradually the sky started to darken and supper smells drifted in from the pantry. He contemplated going upstairs to see if Sam was feeling any better but realized that her headache was named 'Bart' and this was one headache that had to cure itself. His brother must have finally come to the same conclusion because the next time the lovely Miss LaDonza came round with coffee Bart waved her off. He finally grabbed the cane leaning against his chair and got up, and without saying a word to his brother climbed the stairs. Bret could hear him knock on Sam's door.

"Samantha, it's Bart. Can we talk?" Something garbled and indecipherable was answered. His brother tried again.

"Sam, open up. This is getting us nowhere." Again something unintelligible, but Bret heard the work 'damn' in there distinctly.

Then his brother pulled out all the stops. He remembered all those times growing up when Bart had looked at someone, be it Momma, Pappy, or Uncle Ben, with those big, sad eyes and that pleading tone in his voice. It always worked, and it proceeded to work now. "Please, Sam?"

A door opened, and Bret could hear Sam plainly say, "What, Bartley?" Boy, Sam really was mad. Then a door closed and there were no more sounds.

Best to stay out of this one. If he had to eat dinner by himself, so be it.

XXXXXXXX

It was the first time he'd seen the room since the day he'd walked out of it. It was now obviously a woman's room, and he was at ease knowing it didn't look the same. Bart took three steps inside and Samantha closed the door. She stood with her back to it, blocking any potential hurried exit. "What do you want, Bart?"

That was better. She wasn't as furious with him as she had been when she called him by his full name. "I want you to stop being angry with me."

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked him. "You're the one that walked out and left me here to cope with all of this. When you knew I didn't have a clue what I was doing. And you wait two years to come back. What am I supposed to do now?"

"I couldn't stay, Sam. You know that. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even breathe without it hurting. I'd have lost my mind here."

She struck back at him the only way she knew how. "The way you lost it in Montana?"

Ouch. That one hit below the belt. "I had no control over that, Sam. They tried to kill me. The only thing I could have done differently was die." He looked at her and wondered if she would have preferred that. "Is that what you wanted?"

She sucked in her breath loudly. That thought hadn't crossed her mind. "No," was her emphatic answer. "No, I didn't want that."

"Then what? Do you want me to leave? Would that be easier?"

She closed her eyes before answering. "No, Bart, that's not what I want." The only thought running though her mind was _'I can't tell you what I want.'_

They stood there, neither knowing quite what to say. After some minutes of silence, Bart did the best he could. "Look, Samantha, I don't want to fight with you. I've had enough fighting the last couple of years to last a lifetime. I'm sorry I didn't grieve the way you wanted me to. I couldn't do that then; I can't do it now. But if you think I didn't mourn her, you're wrong. I still do; I always will. Does that clear things up any?"

Was it right, to drag it out of the poor man this way? No, she knew it wasn't, but she had to know. If he still loved Caroline, there was no chance for her. She swallowed and opened her eyes again. Same room, same Bart. Always just out of reach.

She was clear-headed now, and she did her best to hide her real feelings. "I'm sorry, Bart. I know you loved her. That you still love her. That you are who you are and you can't be any other way. It clears things up completely. I'll get over it; I won't bring it up again. And I won't drag you back to the cemetery. Let's go join Bret for supper, shall we?"

She backed away from the bedroom door and opened it, then slipped her arm through his like any proper southern lady would. And the gentleman gambler escorted the lady who loved him to supper.


	8. Chapter 8 San Francisco

Carry Me Home

Chapter 8 – San Francisco

Supper was a quiet, low key meal. Neither Bart nor Samantha had much to say, and even Bret ran out of conversation. Sam helped Florita clear the table and then brought the coffee pot and three cups back. She poured two of them and then went to the sideboard and brought back the whiskey bottle. She filled her cup half full and poured coffee in the rest. Bart and Bret exchanged glances and Bret finally asked, "Samantha, when did you start drinking?"

She laughed a dry, cynical laugh. "Start? The first day I stayed here by myself. Any other questions?"

Bret shook his head 'no.' Bart just sat there and watched her drink the concoction. "Did I cause this?" he asked her.

"You mean are you responsible for my whiskey habit? No, I don't think so. You're sitting in the place that's responsible. Most nights all by myself are just too lonely. And I don't have time for anything else." She finished her 'drink' and took the bottle back to the sideboard, then poured herself another cup full of only coffee. "You have no idea what it's been like out here."

Bart looked up from his coffee with a guilty look on his face and told her, "You can sell the ranch if you want to, Sam. It's yours. I don't mind if you do. Go back to St. Louis, or Denver, or anywhere you want to go. You don't have to stay here."

"Yes, I do, Bart. This is the only family I have. This ranch and you."

"Me?" He wasn't quite sure how she meant that.

Samantha tried to keep this amusing. The day had been depressing enough. "Sure. You're the only cousin-in-law I've got. Unless one of the Mavericks would like to marry me." She smiled, first at Bret, then at Bart. Just in case. Bart turned to his brother.

"Your turn."

Bret looked at Bart suspiciously. "For what?"

"To marry a Crawford."

Sam put her cup down and looked at Bart. "Funny boy."

It was the exact wrong thing to say, but Sam had no way of knowing. It was the phrase Rusty Meyers had used when he started pistol-whipping Bart in Montana. The words caused an involuntary reaction and Bart shuddered. "Excuse me." He got up from the table without another word and headed for the door and the porch, taking the same chair he'd fallen asleep in earlier with him.

Sam looked startled at the abrupt departure. "What did I say?" she turned and asked Bret. "Why did he leave?"

"Not your fault, Samantha. That's what Rusty Meyers called him when they started beating him. Those words bring everything back; they put him on edge. It's almost like he's waiting for the pain to start all over again."

"Was it that bad, Bret?"

"Yeah, it was that bad, and Beau and I made it worse. We didn't find him until morning. He laid on the floor and bled all night. If we'd been much later he would've been dead." He let out a huge sigh. "I'm goin' out to check on him. I need a cigar, anyway." He reached over and patted her hand. "He'll be alright."

Bret got up from the table and left Sam sitting there alone. He wandered out to the porch where Bart had taken refuge and leaned against the railing. Bart wasn't smoking, so Bret pulled two cigars out of his coat and offered the first to his brother. Bart took it and Bret lit first Bart's, then his own. He took a long draw on the stogie and blew out a fine trail of smoke. "She feels bad, you know."

"You explained?" Bart queried.

"I did." He looked down at Bart, sitting in the chair smoking and watching the stars. "She still feels bad."

"She's not the only one."

"Are you two alright?" That seemed to be the question of the day as far as Bret was concerned. Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to. And it appeared that after only two days in Dry Springs both Bart and Sam felt worse than they had before.

"I don't know, Bret. Somethings off with Sam; I don't think it's been right since I left the last time. She's unhappy with me for 'deserting her' after we lost Caroline. Thought I should have stayed and taught her how to ride herd on the ranch." He smoked while Bret sat on the porch steps. "Maybe I did run out on her." He got up and stretched, then joined his brother on the steps. "Could you have stayed?"

Bret tried to answer as honestly as he could. "I don't know, Bart. Maybe. No. Probably not." He shook his head in complete and utter confusion. "The point is you couldn't. If Sam's mad about that she's got no right to be. She could have sold the ranch and moved on in style, anywhere she wanted to go. She didn't; she stayed here. She made her choice just like you did. Neither one's got a right to criticize the other. Question is, where do you go from here?"

"Good question, Brother Bret. Have you got an answer for me?"

For once Bret was totally serious. "I wish I did, Bart. What do you want? Do you even know?"

Bart laughed at that one. "Yeah, I want to go back to the Bart Maverick that existed before Samantha Crawford got him out of a tight spot and made him promise to do her a favor."

"I'd fix it for you if I could."

"I know you would, Bret, I know you would. But since I can't go back – "

"Yeah?"

"I gotta find a way to go forward. Or at least feel like I'm goin' forward."

"Yeah."

XXXXXXXX

Sam sat at the table for a few minutes after Bret joined Bart outside. She could smell cigars and hear their voices, but not what they were saying. She was so looking forward to their arrival, thinking how nice it would be to have company for a change. Instead her peace had been shattered.

She'd seen the disapproval on both their faces when she poured the whiskey. Let 'em disapprove; she didn't care. She was a woman, living alone, on a ranch she never wanted in a place she didn't want to be. On top of that she was supposed to help a man that she loved get well and heal so that he could leave her the first chance he got. And what did she get out of all this? Steers. Smelly, stinky cattle. And not even a warm body to help defrost her soul. Maybe Bart was right. Maybe she should sell the Double C and go elsewhere. St. Louis? No, it had a river smell all its own. Kansas City? She was trying to get away from steers. New Orleans? She was southern enough, but not Cajun and not French aristocrat. Denver? Too cold in the winters. San Francisco? Now there was a possibility.

She'd only been there once, but she liked it. The air was fresh and clean, no cattle stench. The water was ocean clear, not muddy and dirty. And her heritage didn't matter so much_. 'There's an idea I can live with,_' she thought. San Francisco. The more she turned it over in her mind the more she liked it. Maybe in a new place, with different sights and smells each day, she could forget about the man who didn't love her.


	9. Chapter 9 Stubborn Man

Carry Me Home

Chapter 9 – Stubborn Man

The morning was bright and clear. The way so many mornings were in Dry Springs. Whether you wanted them to be or not.

Sam made a difficult decision last night, but she knew in her heart it was the right one. If she didn't leave the ranch and go back to the world she knew it was only a matter of time until she turned into a withered old crone. And no self-respecting southern lady could allow that to happen if there was a way to prevent it. Now she had to inform Bart of her decision.

She dressed in a hurry and went downstairs to Florita's singing. Bart was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and playing with his cane. "Good morning, Sam."

Her voice was light and cheerful, something that had been lacking the past several days. "Good morning, sunshine," she answered. "Are you gonna eat that thing or date it?" She was referring to the cane, which was currently occupying all of Bart's attention.

"I hate this, you know? It reminds me of things I don't want to be reminded of." He set it down, propped up against the table. And finished off the entire act with a withering glare.

She gave that some thought before she answered him. "We all have those things, darlin'. At least yours helps you." She picked up the coffee pot that Florita left on the table and poured herself a cup, then waved Bart down as he tried to stand up for her. Even in this physical state, always the gentleman. "Where's your brother this mornin'?"

"Outside," was his quick reply. "Couldn't stand to be awake at this hour and had to escape. Soon as Florita starts cookin' he'll be back."

Sam let loose with a laugh. "Same Bret Maverick. Feed him and he'll follow you anywhere." She took a sip of coffee; it was good and hot. That meant Bart hadn't been up too long; Florita had just left the pot on the table.

Bart nodded and laughed with her. "Good thing. Some things need to stay the same."

Ouch. In light of her earlier decision, that hurt without him knowing it. She looked away for just a moment and when she looked back Bart had a hand up rubbing his forehead, as if in pain. "Headache?"

"Yeah. They come and go. Don't tell Bret; he worries about everything."

"Should he? Worry about everything?"

"No."

Sam was having a hard time believing that. From the look on Bart's face, it was more than just a headache. "I've got a few aspirin upstairs. Do you want one?"

"If it's not too much trouble. But like I said – "

"Just don't tell Bret," she finished for him. "I know."

Sam ducked her head into the pantry before going upstairs. "Have you started breakfast?"

Florita nodded. "Si, señorita. For everyone."

"I'll be right back to help."

"Si, señorita."

Samantha practically ran up the stairs and found the aspirin the doctor had left for her when she hurt her ankle a few months back. When she got downstairs Bart wasn't at the table but the cane was. _'Stubborn man,'_ she thought to herself. "Did Bart go outside?" she asked her cook.

"Si, señorita."

Sam got a glass of water and took it with her so Bart could take the aspirin. She opened the front door and stepped outside just in time to see him take a step off the porch. With no cane to help him stay on his feet Bart missed the first step and landed wrong on the second, pitching forward and onto the ground. He hit hard, face down, and didn't move. Sam dropped the glass and the aspirin and ran.

He still hadn't moved by the time she jumped down the three steps and landed next to him. She tried to turn him over onto his back but he was too heavy for her. She turned her head back toward the house and yelled "Florita!" and then back to the barn and "Jess!" Both came running.

"What happened, Miss Sam?" Jess asked as he reached her side and got down to help her with the prone gambler.

"Stubborn man left his cane inside," she answered quickly. Florita was there now, too, and between the three of them they rolled Bart over. The reason for the unconsciousness was the good size rock Bart's forehead grazed in the fall; there was a trickle of blood running down his forehead from the subsequent cut. Of more concern was the impact that landing flat on the ground caused; it was awfully slight to knock a grown man out like that. She directed Jess and Florita – "Jess, grab his shoulders, Florita, help me down here. Let's get him inside."

Between the three of them they carried Bart into the main room of the house and laid him down on the settee. "Jess, go get the glass and pill I dropped outside and bring me some water. He's gonna' need the aspirin. Florita, a wet towel, please." Both hurried off to help.

A small moan issued from the gambler and Sam put her hand on his shoulder. "Shhh, lie still. You fell and hit your head. It'll be all right in a minute."

Florita came back with the towel first and Sam gently wiped the blood from Bart's face. He moaned again and his eyelids fluttered for a moment before opening just a crack. "I'm dead," he whispered.

"Here now. You are not dead. Why would you say that?"

"Cause there's an angel lookin' at me." With that his eyes closed again.

"Why would you go outside without your cane?" she asked him, even though she knew the answer.

He struggled with the words. "Time to let go." Then he was silent again.

Men. Most of them were fools, Samantha had decided a long time ago. And right now Bart was no different than most. Jess returned with the aspirin and a glass of water but Sam waved him away. "Put them on the table, Jess. He's not takin' any pills for a while."

XXXXXXXX

Bret had gotten up and taken one of the horses out before Sam was awake. He agreed with his brother and what was said last night; something wasn't right with their friend. The only difference between him and Bart was that Bret suspected what Bart didn't have a clue about – that Sam was in love with the younger gambler and had been for some time. That would certainly explain a lot. Maverick Solitaire held no fascination for him this morning, so he saddled a horse and rode. Easier to think when there was nothing to distract you.

He'd wondered about Sam's feelings for quite some time. Although he'd met her first, it seemed to be Bart that she was most at ease with. Maybe the connection was Caroline; maybe not. She'd eagerly agreed when contacted about them coming to visit; almost too eagerly. Was she that starved for company or was it the particular company that was coming? It didn't matter either way to Bret; Bart needed a change of scene desperately after the last year in Montana and Bret could use some rest, too. And their alternative was to go spend time with Pappy and Uncle Ben. Bret didn't think that such a good idea right now.

Pappy was . . . . . well, Pappy. No one on this earth was quite like Beauregard Maverick. Gambler extraordinaire, Texas philosopher, honest as the day is long . . . . . unless you cheated him. Then beware the extremely clever and highly motivated con-man you'd unleashed. Pappy lived by the code of 'Do unto others . . . . as long as they don't try to undo you.'

Pappy loved his boys but he didn't always approve of what they did. That was the deep and abiding sentiment he'd expressed quite vocally to Bret when he learned of Bart's marriage and subsequent flight into Mexico after Caroline's death. His attitude had changed quite a bit in Montana, after it looked like he might have to stumble into old age with only one son to rely on. Bret could just imagine spending weeks, let alone months, with their father in Texas. He wasn't sure that either of them would get a moment's peace, between Pappy raising hell with Bart for getting married and with Bret for letting him do such a foolish thing. So the wise choice had been coming to New Mexico.

Now Bret had begun to doubt that decision. Especially in light of what he perceived to be Sam's feelings for his brother. But what if he was wrong and just imagining things? Best keep it to himself until he could figure it out. It suddenly dawned on him he was starving and he turned his horse back towards the ranch.

XXXXXXXX

Oh God, that awful pounding in his head! He reached up to feel his skull and a hand caught his and prevented it. It was a woman's hand. It hurt too bad to open his eyes and find out for sure, but he assumed it to be Sam's. Imagine his surprise when he heard, "Señor. No tocar."

What was her name again? The Spanish beauty who cooked like a dream? "Florita?"

"Si, señor."

"Florita, ¿Dónde está Samantha?"

"I'm here, Bart." He could hear Sam walking but couldn't tell where she was coming from. He knew better than to open his eyes when his head was pounding like this – it only made it hurt worse. "What happened?"

"Ow. I missed a step."

"You missed a step?"

"Don't yell, Sam. "

"Open your eyes, Bart."

"I can't. It hurts too bad." He reached for his head and again the woman's hand grabbed his. This one had a different feel to it – rougher and more calloused. This one belonged to Samantha.

"Open your eyes. I have an aspirin for you."

Against his better judgement he did as he was told. Sam helped him to raise his head and take the pill that would bring blessed relief to the pounding. He quickly closed his eyes again. "Where am I?"

"On the settee downstairs. As opposed to the dirt, where I found you. Why did you try to leave the house without the cane?"

'_Hurry, aspirin. Hurry and work,_' was the main thought going through his mind. "Because I'm tired of feeling like an old cripple."

"So you'd rather fall down and break something?" Why did she have to keep badgering him?

"I didn't break anything . . . . . I think."

"Hmmpf. Just lucky." He felt a cool cloth layed on his forehead. It felt good. Then the hands that had grabbed his last started massaging his temples, trying to ease the pain. He appreciated the attempt but nothing was helping. The last time he felt pain like this it kept escalating until it ended in a seizure. He lay dead still and said out loud, "Sam, stop. It doesn't help. It only makes things worse."

She stopped, reluctantly. "What can I do for you, Bart?"

He moaned in response. "Nothing. Don't even try." The pounding was rising to a crescendo, and for a moment he braced himself for the inevitable outcome – total darkness as the seizure took over. It never came. Instead the pounding seemed to crest like a wave and then slowly, ever so slowly, began to recede. He didn't know why, but he was grateful for the respite.

Sam heard the moan and watched as his breathing increased rapidly. She could feel his heart hammer and his body tense as he seemed to be bracing for something that was coming – she felt for his pulse and it was faster than she'd ever experienced - and then very gradually everything began to slow down. His heartbeat was almost normal when he finally opened his eyes and looked in her face. She hoped it didn't look as frightened as she felt.

"Bart?" she asked very quietly.

"Mmmmmm?" was the best he could do right then.

"What just happened?" She was afraid of the answer. Had he just had another seizure? Or had he been very lucky and avoided one? And just what caused whatever it was?

"I'm . . . . not . . . . sure." He spoke very slowly and carefully, as if measuring each word for its accuracy. His eyelids fluttered for a moment and then he was back with her. "Some . . . . thing.

"Is that how the seizures started?" She needed to know what they were dealing with. And what triggered it. The fall? The knock on the head?

"Yes. But . . . it stopped." He tried to smile at her, to reassure her. She removed the cloth and stroked his forehead. Her touch was so gentle, so soft, so comforting. And she continued until she stroked the pain away.


	10. Chapter 10 Peaceful Dreams

Carry Me Home

Chapter 10 – Peaceful Dreams

Bret unsaddled his mount and turned him out to graze; then walked back to the house. Everything was strangely quiet, but he could hear Sam and Florita's voices as he approached the door. Where was Bart?

His question was answered as soon as he got inside. Both of the women were tending to his brother, who was stretched out on the settee at the far side of the room. Bart's eyes were closed and his face was white as a sheet but he was talking sporadically to Samantha, who had pulled a chair up next to the sofa. Florita stood behind Sam, holding some kind of cloth in her hand. Both turned their heads toward him as the door creaked open. He practically ran across the room to find out what was going on.

"Samantha?" Bret could see Bart's eyes open and close again at the sound of his voice. At least he was conscious. "What happened?"

"I missed a step." Bart answered; it was the same excuse that he gave Sam when she asked the question.

"Missed a step? Where was your cane?"

"In the house," Sam answered for him. "Where he deliberately left it."

Bart's eyes were still closed and Sam put her finger to her lips, indicating that Bret should be quiet. She got up from the chair and Florita sat down, putting the wet cloth back across Bart's forehead. Sam walked across the room and grabbed Bret's hand, taking him with her as she left the house. The door closed behind them and she sighed. "I thought it might be better if we talked out here."

"Now, what really happened, Samantha?" Bret was none too happy to find Bart hurt in some way and wanted to know who he should be disturbed with.

"Mr. Maverick was tired of using the cane and decided he didn't need it anymore. So he left it inside while he went outside. And he told you the truth – I saw it myself. He missed a step and fell. But when he went down he hit his head on a good sized rock and split his forehead open. It knocked him out, Bret."

"Shouldn't have. He's too darned hard-headed to be knocked out by a rock. Did ya check the rock to see if it's alright?" Bret's attempt at humor fell flat on Sam.

"We got him inside and he started to come around but his head was killing him. I thought there was an attack comin'. His heart was pounding and he was breathing hard, and then he got all tight, like his whole body was balled up into hard little knot. Then when I thought it couldn't get much worse it all started to slow down and go back to normal. It was like he fought off whatever was out to get him. He scared the livin' daylights out of me."

Bret put his head in his hands and covered his eyes. He muttered something that Sam couldn't hear and then looked up at her. "That's the way they start, Sam. You sure it backed off? He seems better now?"

"I'm sure, Bret. He still doesn't feel right but he's way better than he was before."

"Damn it, I should've been here. Why did I pick this morning to go out?"

Sam looked at him and wondered that herself. "Where did you go?"

"Just out. I had something on my mind I needed to get straight. But why today? And why did he have to be such a darn fool about that cane?" Bret was mad; at his brother, at himself, at Cousin Beau, at Edgar Pike, but most of all at Rusty Meyers for what he did to cause all this.

"Said it made him feel like an old cripple."

"That's what he's going to be if he's not careful."

'What now, Bret?"

"I wish I knew, Samantha."

They stood on the porch for a few minutes, one lost in thought, the other one just lost. "I'll get Jess, let's take him upstairs," Bret finally offered.

"No, I'll get Jess. You go talk to your brother." Sam walked towards the barn, where Jess had returned. Bret went back into the house.

Bart was either sleeping or unconscious; Bret didn't know which. He murmured "Bart" and the man lying prone on the settee stirred.

"Hmmm?' was the response.

"Bart, wake up. We need to talk." It was time they got some things straight.

Very quietly, "No. I know that voice."

"Fine. Then we'll talk when we get you upstairs"

"We?"

"Me and Jess." Just as Bret said that he heard Jess and Samantha come through the front door. "Come on, Brother Bart, let's get you up. Jess, when I get him on his feet, you take one side and I'll take the other. You ready, Bart?"

Before his brother could say anything, Bret had him off the settee and partially standing. Jess got on the other side and the two men half-carried Bart up the stairs and into his room. They laid him on the bed and Jess left. Bret took his brother's boots off and pulled the blanket up over him. "Ow" was the only thing Bart said. Bret sat down on the edge of the bed. "Samantha told me about the stunt you pulled this morning."

"Stunt?" The voice was faint.

"Yes, stunt. Walking outside without the cane to help support you. What were you trying to do?"

"Walk like a normal person."

From the sound of Bart's voice, Bret better get this talk in fast or his brother would be asleep. "And you will, when you're ready. But you're not ready yet. You had another seizure, Bart . . . . not as bad as the others, but it was still a seizure. You scared poor Samantha to death. To say nothing of whatever damage you've done to yourself."

"Not hurt. Just tired."

"We're here for you to get well, understand? Not to make things worse. Behave and use the cane until you don't need it anymore. Or you'll give both Samantha and me heart palpitations. I think it'd kill her if she lost you too. No more playing around, hear?"

Bret was talking to the walls, Bart was sound asleep. At least that was an improvement over the aftermath of the seizures in Montana. Then he'd been unconscious for days. Better not to alarm Samantha; she thought he'd avoided one today. Bret looked down at Bart, who was developing a black and blue lump behind the cut on his forehead from the collision with the rock. He reached down and brushed Bart's hair off his face. He looked so young and innocent when he slept; just like he did when they were kids. Bret wondered how different each of them would be if momma had lived and been there to raise them. He'd bet his bottom dollar they wouldn't be gamblers, just like Pappy. Momma never would have let them out of her sight long enough to spend as much time as they did in saloons with cards at such a young age. He wondered what it would be like to have a home and a family, and not have to worry about which town you were going to get run out of next. Would he ever find a woman to love him, a woman like momma who'd accept him for who he was and love him anyway?

When Bart talked about Caroline it almost sounded like she was just such a woman. But Bart lost her over the very piece of land they were sitting on. And look at all the pain and heartache it caused him. Maybe a home and family wasn't worth all that. Maybe they had the best life they could have, anyway. He looked down again at his brother and touched Bart's face as he slept. Peaceful dreams, little brother, peaceful dreams.


	11. Chapter 11 Love's Labour Lost

Carry Me Home

Chapter 11 – Love's Labour Lost

Samantha was waiting for him the next time he came downstairs. "How is he?"

"Sleeping." Bret wondered if he should tell Sam the truth – that Bart had a seizure, although a much different one than the two in Montana. Maybe it would be better if she knew.

"Should we send for the doctor?"

"Let's wait and see how he is when he wakes up." After everything that Doc Washburn told him before they left Montana, Bret didn't really think it would do much good. He was willing to wait and see what happened until later in the day.

"I'm so glad it wasn't like the ones in Montana - I wouldn't know what to do if he went through that again." No response or acknowledgment from the older Maverick brother. "Bret, did you hear what I just said?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. No, it wasn't like Montana. Thank goodness." Nope, not time to say anything. Let Sam believe what she wanted to believe. But what do they do now?

"Do you think the fall caused it?"

"Probably." It was just a guess, but it was the best guess he had.

"Why are all the Mavericks so stubborn?"

Why wasn't Sam willing to let this go? Was she just concerned? Or were Bret's suspicions about her feelings correct?

"Samantha, can I ask you something?"

She nodded her head soberly. "Of course."

"Do you have feelings for my brother?" He was looking right at her when he asked the question; she quickly turned away.

"No."

"Samantha? How long have we known each other?"

She kept her back turned to him and walked across the room. "A long time, Bret. Why?"

"Don't ya think I know by now when you're not telling me the truth?"

Samantha stopped where she was and turned to face him, looking him right in the eyes. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't love your brother."

Bret strode over to her, took hold of her shoulders and held her at arm's length from him. "Do you love my brother?"

"Get your hands off me, Bret Maverick. You have no right to ask me that." She did her best to squirm out of his grasp but he held on to her.

"You didn't answer me, Samantha."

It was funny how Bret always called her by her full name, Samantha. Bart called her any number of things – Samantha, Sam, 'darlin' if he was mocking her, and, at various other times, some things she wouldn't repeat. It was hard to be evasive when called by your full name.

"I did answer you and that's the only answer you're going to get."

Just as he thought. Sam's continued refusal to answer his question directly was as good as a 'yes'. He had another one ready for her. "Why don't you tell him?"

"You've seen how fast he can run when he wants to."

There was no doubt about that. Bart was good at getting into romantic situations in a hurry and getting out of them just as fast. But with Samantha – that was a another matter entirely. Bret had always felt some kind of a pull between the two of them. The only thing that troubled him now was the ghost of Caroline. Would that prevent Bart from an involvement with her cousin?

"He can't run right now, Samantha." Bret was being funny and serious at the same time. A beautiful woman might be just the thing that his brother needed to take his mind off of - everything. "You'll never know if you don't try."

"There's too much at stake here, Bret. If he's not interested – "

"Samantha, we're talking about Bart Maverick. Why would he not be interested?"

Sam shook her head and laughed. "How much time have you spent around your brother since Caroline?"

Bret had to think for a moment. "Quite a bit since he came back from Mexico."

"And just how many women have been around since then?"

He started to give her an answer but had to stutter through it. "Well, come to think of it, there's been – no, that was before. Uh – in Montana there was – uh – no, there wasn't. Hmmmmm. You may be right. I just naturally assumed – I mean, I never thought about it. But he hasn't – not for a long time."

Bret sat down in a chair by the fire. He just assumed – but Samantha was right, there'd been no one that Bret could think of. His brother changed right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. What else was he missing?

Sam stopped by his chair and rested her hand on his shoulder. "I'm going up to check on him. Thanks for the encouragement."

He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed. "Any time, Samantha."

XXXXXXXX

Sam knew that Bret wasn't telling her something but she didn't know what. She had other things to worry about, like the man upstairs. She was questioning her decision to sell the ranch and move, especially since Bart wasn't getting better as fast as anyone wanted him to. This morning's accident had been his own fault, due to his stubbornness, but that was beside the point. If she sold now she might never see him again. And after Bret's words of encouragement she wasn't quite ready to give up.

She opened the door quietly and tried to check on him but he was turned away from her in the bed. She had to tiptoe around the other side before she could see that he appeared to be asleep, still. She pulled the blanket up around him and did the same thing Bret had done - brushed the hair off of his face. But her hand was a lot softer than Bret's, and before she knew it Bart had grabbed her wrist. His eyes stayed closed but he was obviously conscious. "Sam?" The question was barely louder than a whisper.

"Yes, Bart, it's Sam." She tried to be as quiet as he was.

"What time?"

"It's early afternoon. You've been asleep all morning. How do you feel?"

He opened his eyes slowly. "Like a horse kicked me." He started to reach for his head; now it was Sam's turn to grab his wrist.

"Oh no you don't. You've got a nice knot there; leave it alone." She let go of his wrist and he put his hand back down. "Go back to sleep."

"Wide awake." This was immediately followed by a big yawn.

Sam started to leave the room before she heard him say, "Don't go. Stay. Please."

She turned back around. "Alright." She pulled the chair over from the window and sat down next to his bed. She said and pondered everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Have an idea." He still wasn't talking in complete sentences, and his voice was so soft she could barely hear him. Almost as if he was talking to himself.

Sam stifled a giggle. It was odd to be sitting here, so close to him and yet so far away. "What's your idea?" she asked him, sure that he would fall back asleep at any moment.

"Kiss me."

What? Had she heard him right? Was he delusional? "Bart?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"What did you say?"

"Kiss me."

Instead she leaned over and shook him. His eyes, which had actually been closed, popped open and he stared at her. "What Sam? Why'd you wake me?"

She blinked twice and stared right back. It took her a minute to understand what had just happened. "Were you asleep?"

"Yes. Dreaming. Such a nice dream." He burrowed under the covers. "Nice dream," he repeated as he drifted back into sleep.

Sam had been holding her breath the entire time; afraid that he meant it, afraid that he didn't mean it. He wasn't talking to her. He was asleep and dreaming. About Caroline? About her? About someone else? It didn't matter. She let out a big sigh and folded her hands in her lap. Now what was she going to do?


	12. Chapter 12 Rusty Redux

Carry Me Home

Chapter 12 – Rusty Redux

Right before Florita put supper on the table, Bret went back up to check on Bart one more time. He found his brother awake and watching the door.

"Brother Bart! You're awake. How's the head?"

"Sore. How long was I asleep?"

"All day. It's supper time. You feel more clear-headed than Montana?"

"More clear-headed? What? Why? Do you think – "

Bret nodded as he spoke. "That you had another seizure? Yes, I do."

"But it's not – I mean I wasn't – "

"No, I don't think it was the same. But I think it was related to what happened in Montana. And I think the fall on the rock had a lot to do with it." He looked down at his brother as he said "No more leaving the cane behind. Until you can walk without it. Understood?"

Bart sighed. "Yes, Pappy." He made a face just like he did when Bret told him NOT to play in the dirt, when he was about five years old.

"Are you hungry? Supper's ready; Sam can come up with food. Or I can send Florita up."

Bart started to say 'no' and then he saw Bret's face. His brother was very determined looking about him eating. "Sure. Send Sam."

"I will if she'll come."

"She'll come."

XXXXXXXX

Florita had prepared caldo de pollo for dinner and Sam brought a steaming bowl of it on a tray up to Bart's room, along with water and coffee. She set it down on the dresser and took two of the extra pillows kept back of the bed to help Bart sit up and eat. Once she got the pillows arranged behind him she brought the food over and set the bed tray down in front of him. The first thing Bart reached for was the coffee. Sam admonished him. "No coffee until you've eaten something. Doctor Crawford's orders." He reluctantly put the coffee cup back. "Do you want me to help you eat?" she asked first.

"No." She watched him struggle with the soup but let him feed himself. "This is delicious."

"Everything that Florita makes is delicious. Haven't you noticed I've gained weight?"

He put the spoon down in his soup and looked at her as she stood next to the bed. She looked perfect as she had the last time he was here. "Not even a little. Sit down please."

Sam sat down on the chair next to the bed. She watched him for a few minutes as he continued his struggle with the soup but didn't interfere. This time when he reached for the coffee cup she let him have it. "Bart?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you remember me being here earlier today?"

He shook his head 'no.' "Were you?"

"Uh-huh. You were dreaming and talking in your sleep."

"I was?"

"Uh-huh. You don't remember that?"

"No." He set the coffee cup down and picked up the soup spoon again. After dropping it twice, Sam took it from him and fed him the rest of the bowl. She was surprised when he ate the whole thing.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much. Thanks." As she set the spoon down on the tray he grabbed her hand and held it for a moment. "Thanks for this morning."

She pulled away from him gently and picked up the tray to move it. He snatched the coffee cup and kept it with him. "Can I have more?"

"Coffee? Alright, I'll bring it up after supper. Do you need anything else?"

"Any more aspirin?"

"Yes, I do have some. I'll bring one back with the coffee. Does it hurt much?" She of course was asking about the black, blue and purple lump he now had on his forehead.

"I've had worse."

"Yes, and probably will again. But not self-inflicted." She meant the act of leaving the cane in the house and trying to navigate without it. "I'll be back." She picked up the empty bed tray and hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

Bret waited at the bottom for her and took the tray. "How's our boy?"

"Feeling better. He ate the soup and wants more coffee."

Bret laughed at the coffee. "Of course he does."

"I'll take him some after supper. Another aspirin, too."

The older Maverick put out his hand. "Let me have the aspirin now. I'll take it up. You can take him coffee later."

"Alright." She retrieved an aspirin from the sideboard and gave it to Bret. "He has water upstairs."

"Fine. I'll be right back." He bounded up the stairs two at a time and was back down in just minutes.

"That was quick," Sam remarked.

"Doesn't take long to swallow a pill."

XXXXXXXX

They had supper, and coffee after as usual, relaxed and talking mainly about the ranch. Sam was going to tell Bret about her decision to sell but at the last minute decided to wait a few days and see if she changed her mind. She forgot about the request for additional coffee and for a while they sat in front of the fireplace and simply watched the flames. Florita left for the day and things were quiet and peaceful; the man upstairs was forgotten for a little while.

Until what sounded like a loud crash shattered the silence. Sam and Bret thought of Bart at the same moment and both jumped to their feet and raced upstairs to his room. The door was ajar and Bart was out of bed, collapsed on the floor like he was trying to get out. Bret rushed to get him off the floor; with some effort he picked his brother up, laying him carefully down on the bed. Bart was conscious but rambling, babbling about 'gunslingers' and 'marked decks'; and his body was soaked with sweat. "Samantha, get a wet rag." She hurried from the room.

"Bart, can you hear me?" Bret tried to reach his brother, whose words had descended into nothing more than mumbled syllables. Sam came back with the rag and Bret tenderly wiped his brother's face and neck. How many more times could he go through this? Bret's words were frightened and brusque. "Samantha, send Jess for the doctor. Hurry."

Just like Montana, with one exception – Bart wasn't shivering with cold; instead he was burning up with what felt like a raging fever. This time his face was flushed and he was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as if he'd been running. The mumbling abruptly stopped; Bart was unresponsive. Bret felt for the pulse in his neck; it was racing frantically. What happened? Less than thirty minutes ago he was fine, with the exception of the knot on his forehead. Now he was in the midst of what looked like another convulsion. Nothing had changed except the aspirin he'd taken. Bret sat on the bed and kept wiping his brother down, talking to him in a soothing tone of voice, hoping to get some kind of reaction. Samantha was gone a long time, and when she returned she looked terrified.

"Jess is on his way. He knows to hurry. Is there any change?"

"He's out," Bret informed her. 'He's burning up with fever. Help me get him out of these clothes; they're sopping wet." Samantha got his shirt unbuttoned while Bret got his pants off. Everything was soaked right through. "How long?" he asked Sam.

"An hour or more," she answered him. "That's if Doc is in town. What do we do until he gets here?"

"I don't know, Samantha. This is different. He's never had the fever before. I don't know what happened – he was fine when I brought the aspirin. Just tired – like he'd been up for days. Maybe it's got to do with cracking his thick-headed skull on the rock." Bret paused for a minute, like he was trying to remember something. "I'll tell you what the doctor told me in Montana – pray."

XXXXXXXX

It was almost two hours before Jess and Doctor Ashton got back to the Double C. By the time they arrived Bart's breathing had slowed considerably, as had his pulse. Bret was still wiping him down regularly with the wet rag but he wasn't sweating as profusely. Doc got as much of a medical history as Bret could give him and then shooed everyone out of the room. When the doctor emerged some few minutes later he was shaking his head in bewilderment. "Are you sure you told me everything, son?" he asked Bret. "Didn't leave nothin' out?"

"No, Doc, that's all of it. What's wrong?"

"That's the whole thing," Doc told him. "I can't find a dang thing wrong with him – other than that boulder he's growin' on his head. Think hard. There's gotta be somethin' I'm missin'."

Finally Sam thought of something. "We gave him an aspirin."

"When?"

"This morning and again this afternoon."

Doc Ashton stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm. That could be it."

Sam was incredulous. "The aspirin?"

"Yep," the doctor answered her carefully. "Real unusual to have that strong a reaction, but it's happened."

Bret couldn't believe it. They'd been responsible for making him this sick? "Are you sure, Doc?"

Dr. Ashton seemed to be amused by the question. "No, son, I'm not sure of anything right now. But that's as good a reason as any, and better'n most. I got no other answers."

"So what do we do now?" Sam questioned him.

"Wait." Followed by a small laugh. "And don't give him any more aspirin."

"That's all?"

"That's it. Keep him comfortable and just let him sleep. That's what he's doin' now. Beyond that – "

Bret stopped Dr. Ashton before he started down the stairs. "Could this have anything to do with the injuries in Montana?"

"Oh sure. That may have started all this. Did the doctor in Montana use aspirin much?"

Bret shook his head. "Laudanum."

"How'd he react to that?"

"Stopped the seizures."

"Hmmm. Unusual but not impossible. Might've had somethin' to do with this."

"Is this gonna continue?" Bret was hoping the doctor would have a negative answer for him, but no such luck.

"I don't know, Mr. Maverick. It's hard to say. Might not happen again with no aspirin. Then again – "

Sam assured Dr. Ashton as his voice trailed off. "We'll make sure he knows about the aspirin, Doc. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here for nothing."

"Twern't for nothin', Samantha. Not if it stops this happenin'."

Sam followed Dr. Ashton down the stairs. Bret went back into Bart's room and sat by the bed, where his brother seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He sighed as he sat down, thinking back over all the pain Bart had suffered in the last few months. Could trying to help him actually have made him worse? Bart stirred and moaned softly and his brother sighed again, wishing for all the world that this could all just be over and done with. "I hope you rot in hell, Rusty."


	13. Chapter 13 The End of the Innocence

Carry Me Home

Chapter 13 – The End of the Innocence

Bart slept all night. Bret was sure of that because he slept on the floor next to his brother's bed. He didn't want to take a chance in case Bart woke and needed something, be it comfort or attention. After daylight came Sam appeared in the door with a cup of coffee in her hand and a sympathetic expression on her face. "Thought maybe you could use this."

Bret got up off the floor stiffly and limped over to her and the coffee. "Much obliged. Floor's not the greatest place to sleep."

"No, I imagine it's not. How was he last night?"

"Quite for the most part. Fever seems to be gone." Bret handed his coffee back to Sam for a moment so he could yawn and stretch. Then he took the cup back. "Thanks. How did you sleep?"

"Huh," Sam responded. "What's sleep? I should have let you go to bed and I could've stayed with him."

"You're assuming I slept." They both laughed softly and Bret took another sip of coffee.

"Too early for breakfast?"

"No. Florita's already here and cooking for the hands. Go on down, I'll stay here till you're done."

Bret kissed Sam on the cheek. "Thanks, Samantha." He went downstairs in a hurry, hungry as a bear. Sam stepped into Bart's room just as the body on the bed groaned softly and stirred. She tiptoed over to the chair on the side of the room and moved it next to the bed. As soon as she sat down, she leaned over him and whispered "Bart?"

He moaned slightly and rolled onto his right side, facing her. When he finally spoke the voice was faint and hoarse. His eyes flickered open slowly but remained unfocused. "Sam?"

"Uh-huh. It's me, darlin'. Are you back with us this morning?"

The next sound was close to a grunt. Followed by "Thirsty."

"I'll just bet you are. Hold on and I'll get you some water." Sam looked over to the dresser to see if a glass still sat there. It did, about half full. She got up and brought it over to the chair, where she set it on the floor while she tried to get her arm under his head and lift. She finally succeeded enough for him to take a drink; she grabbed the glass and raised it to his lips. He took a good long drink and she set both his head and the glass back down. "Better?"

"Mmm-hmm." His eyes closed again but his voice was stronger. "Happened?"

"You collapsed, darlin'. Doctor thinks it was the aspirin. No more of that for you."

He groaned. That was the only thing that kept his head from falling off. "Bret?"

"I sent him down to eat. He was here with you all night. Slept on the floor."

A small smile played around his mouth. It wasn't the first time one of them slept on the floor, worried about the other, and it wouldn't be the last. "Good for him."

Sam didn't want to laugh, so she covered her mouth with her hand. It didn't do any good and she laughed anyway. The relationship between the Maverick brothers always astonished her. It elicited a single word from Bart. "What?"

"I'm sorry. You and your brother. What else?"

His voice was soft again, the way a voice sounds as its owner drifts off to sleep. "Not funny."

She slowly got her laughter under control. "No, darlin', it's not funny. It's amazing."

One last word as he drifted back under sleep's spell. "Tired."

XXXXXXXX

He slept the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. When Bart next opened his eyes it was closer to another supper than anything and he was hungry. Sam was sitting next to his bed reading a book and she was pleased to see him awake again.

"Hello, sleepy-head," she greeted him once she was sure he was awake to stay. "How're you feeling?"

"Hungry," was the answer that came back.

"I thought you might be. How about some eggs and toast?"

"Sure." Pause. "Coffee?"

"Later."

"Sam? How long gone?"

She was sure he was talking about himself and how long he'd been asleep. "Almost twenty-four hours. Doc says it's good for you."

"Doctor's been here?"

Obviously he didn't remember anything from earlier in the day. Or last night. "Doctor was here late last night."

"Did I die?"

"No you didn't die. What makes you say such things? You're going to be fine. I'm going to get food. I'll send Bret up."

XXXXXXXX

Bret was willing to let Bart have his coffee when he'd finished about half the food Florita prepared. Bart was alert enough now to hear what Bret intended to tell him. "Bart, there's something you need to know."

"I'm alive and full. What else is there?"

"I'm not kidding. You need to know this." Bret had that 'I'm serious and you should listen to me' tone in his voice. Bart put down his coffee.

"Alright, Bret, what is it?"

How do you tell your brother that despite your best intentions you almost killed him? Rather you and Sam almost killed him? Not deliberately, of course, but still –

"Do you remember any of what happened yesterday evening?"

"Not much."

"Samantha was supposed to bring you coffee after dinner?"

"Something like that."

"We forgot. We ate and talked for a while – then there was a loud crash."

There was no hint of acknowledgment in Bart's eyes at all. "What fell?"

"You." Bret let that sink in for a minute before he continued. "We both came running up here – found you on the floor. Soaking wet with sweat, running a fever. Got you back into bed and undressed and sent for the doctor."

"Undressed? You?"

"Samantha helped. She's good in a tight spot. By the time the doctor got here you'd settled down some. But he couldn't find a darn thing wrong with you. And then he asked a question that got both of us thinking. And he might have figured it out."

"What?"

"The aspirin. Both times you had aspirin you got sick."

"Had it before. Never got sick."

"That was before the beating. And the laudanum. And all the aspirin Doc Washburn fed you. Your body reacts to it now. And it's not a good reaction. You can't take it again, Bart. Next time it could kill you."

XXXXXXXX

Sam's turn. Bret wanted someone to spend one more night in Bart's room, just in case, and he was once again willing to sleep on the floor. Samantha wouldn't let him. She insisted it was her turn to stay with Bart and Jess could use Bret's help with the cattle, so she wanted him to get a decent night's sleep. Bret finally agreed but made her promise if anything out of the ordinary happened, she would come and get him.

Samantha was better prepared. She brought in blankets and a pillow and bedded down much more comfortably than Bret had. She was so tired that she fell asleep almost instantly and stayed that way until she heard Bart moaning in what surely was a dream. She waited for the sounds to stop but they didn't and she got up off the floor to wake him. By the time she got to her feet a steady stream of "No, no, no, no, no" was coming from him. She shook him gently by the shoulders and tried to rouse him, but to no avail. She shook him harder and called him. "Bart, Bart wake up. You're dreaming. Wake up!"

Again the "No, no, no, no, no" so she sat on the edge of the bed to get closer to him. "Bart, honey, wake up. It's Samantha; you're dreaming. Wake up." She shook him again for all she was worth and the moaning stopped. It was soon replaced by a murmured 'momma' and then a louder 'no momma no' and she took his hand and laced her fingers through his. "Bart, honey, momma's gone. I'm here. It's alright now."

Whatever was in the dream stopped and he slowly opened his eyes. Sam's head was bent over his and before she could prevent it he kissed her. She didn't know if he was awake or asleep but she was so startled she pulled away from him and sat up straight. He put his arms around her and pulled her back down to him, kissing her again. She started to squirm away from him, but his lips were so soft and she'd wanted this for so long that she stopped struggling and kissed him back.

He kept kissing her and she no longer cared if he knew what he was doing or not. He rolled sideways and she went with him, caught in his embrace. It was delicious. For a moment she came to her senses and knew this needed to stop. "Bart, no. Stop. We can't. We mustn't."

He pulled her closer. "Shhh, Sam, we can." He kissed her again and she was lost.

She woke with a start, her head on his chest, wrapped in his arms. What had she done? He belonged to Caroline – and it took her a few moments to remember that Caroline was dead, long before now, and he didn't belong to anybody – especially not her. She should get up, out of his bed and back to the floor – or better yet, her own room – where she wouldn't be tempted to stay so close to him. She tried to pull away and he held her closer still and she had no resistance; it was so much nicer to quit struggling and simply lie with him. Which she finally did, and reveled in his tenderness and warmth. And that's the way Bret found them in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14 No Hombre's Amigos

Carry Me Home

Chapter 14 – No Hombre's Amigos

Bret was surprised when he opened Bart's door and discovered his brother and his good friend wrapped in each other's arms. When did that happen? He closed the door quietly and proceeded downstairs to find Florita hard at work once again. He walked into the pantry and poured coffee from the big pot and leaned against the doorway arch to talk to the pretty Hispanic cook.

"Florita, how long have you been here?"

"With Señorita Sam? A year or more."

"Has she had many . . . . . . uh, friends here?"

"Si, a few Señora's. But not many."

Bret grinned sheepishly. He needed to make Florita understand his question. "No, I mean men . . . . . . friends. Los hombre's amigos."

Florita looked at him as if he had just lost his mind. "No hombre's amigos. Señorita Sam is a dama. She no do that."

"No one?"

"Si, Señor Bret. No one."

"Gracias, Florita." So Samantha didn't have men friends over. Maybe she really was in love with his brother. He heard someone upstairs and walked out to the porch to light a cigar. Neither one needed to know that he'd seen them together.

A few minutes later Samantha came outside, sitting in one of the new chairs that Randy had made for just that spot. She had coffee in one hand and an empanada in the other.

"I see Florita's been baking. I assume that's just as good as everything else she makes."

"Actually it's better. That's why she doesn't make them often. We'd all be fat and lazy around here."

"You'll never be fat, Samantha. Now lazy . . . . . . ."

"Bret Maverick, you are no gentleman. There is not one lazy person here. Not on my ranch."

A brief flash of the scene from this morning skittered across his brain. "No, I'm sure there isn't."

Something was bothering him and Sam didn't know what. "Anything you want to talk about?"

The answer was almost too quick. "Nope. Not a thing. You?"

"Not me." She took the last bite of the pastry and licked her fingers, a most unladylike gesture. Then she giggled.

Bret was startled by the sound. Samantha Crawford giggling like a schoolgirl? "How's Bart this morning?"

"He was still sleeping when I woke up." She paused and looked at the oldest Maverick, but she couldn't read anything on his face. Had he seen her lying in Bart's arms as they slept?

"Think we can stop him from accidentally killing himself and actually get him well?"

"If we can keep him off the porch."

Jess came across the corral with horses saddled, one for Bret. "Mr. Bret, you ready to go?"

Bret handed Sam his empty cup and walked down the porch steps Bart had so much trouble with. "Sure, Jess. Might as well be." He took the reins from Jess and swung up on the horse. "Take good care of him today, Samantha." That sounded like an order more than a request.

Like she wouldn't? "Yes sir, Mr. Maverick sir. And I'll be washin' yer socks fer ya too whilst you's gone." She handed him back a little of the grief he'd just given her. Then saluted him to top it all off.

Bret turned his horse and followed Jess down the trail as his mind wondered just how far Bart and Sam had gone. _'None of your business, Brother Bret,'_ he told himself as he rode away.

XXXXXXXX

_Sunlight was streaming in the open window. A breeze rustled the curtains as Bart smiled and stretched. Then he remembered. He rolled over quickly in the bed and realized that he was alone. Had she really been here? An indentation in the mattress next to him assured him that yes, Caroline had spent the night. He smiled again and slowly abandoned the warmth of the bed. _

Another morning in the same house. Another Crawford woman gone from his bed and his arms.But this one he wasn't married to. And this one he shouldn't have kissed.

Long before Bart ever fell in love with Caroline there had been Samantha. There'd always been something between them that lingered unspoken and unnamed. A kiss here and there, an innuendo that remained a private joke between them. Until last night. He remembered dreaming about Caroline, and then Momma; finally Sam. And then Sam was real, and right in front of him. Right in front of him. The temptation was too much to resist and he kissed her. She was warm and she was soft and she was willing. His mind and his body were ready but his heart wasn't.

When he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway to his room he smiled. "Morning, Samantha."

"You're awake. Good. How'd you sleep last night?"

Was she mad at him that they'd kissed or mad at him that it hadn't gone further? Either way it seemed he was in hot water. Playing stupid usually worked. "I slept fine. Feel much better today. How was the floor?"

Did he think she was an idiot or was he attempting to throw some of the Maverick charm at her? She'd already had the Maverick disdain from his brother this morning. "The floor was fine, thank you. Remember any of your dreams?"

Obviously stupid wasn't going to work. How about contrite? "Did I do something wrong?"

Yes. No. Which answer was correct? She softened; he seemed as confused by it all as she was. "No, Bart, you did nothing wrong. I'm just tired. How do you feel about breakfast?"

"I'd like some. Sam. Come over here, please." He patted the edge of his bed. She walked over to the chair instead and sat down. He reached over and took her hand in his. "I'm sorry if I've done anything to hurt you." She looked at him with those eyes and the little southern pout. "I didn't mean to."

She continued to hold his hand but hung her head and sighed. "I know, Bart. It's this house. There's too much Caroline in it."

He squeezed her hand and shook his head. "No, Sam, it's not the house." He patted his heart with his free hand. "There's too much Caroline in here."

She let go of his hand. That's what she'd been afraid of. She smiled a wan smile at him and gave up the fight. "Can't blame a girl for trying." She got up from the chair and walked towards the door. "I'll send Florita up with food. And coffee." She started out and then stopped. "Do you feel well enough to stay alone today? I'd really like to join the boys with the cattle."

"Sure." He pointed at his suit case, which still had something in it. "Can you get my books for me? They're in my bag."

She went to his bag and opened it. There were two books inside – 'A Tale of Two Cities' by Dickens and The Bible. Bart Maverick with a Bible? "Which one?"

"Both."

"When did you start reading the Bible?" She wondered if this was another 'since Caroline' development.

"When momma taught me to read. That's how she taught Bret, too."

Sam took both books over to the bed. She should have known that as much as Pappy influenced his sons, their momma influenced them, too. Maybe that's why they were such a rarity – honest gamblers. "Here – good reading. And don't let me find that you've gotten out of bed and wandered around by yourself. You're an accident waiting to happen." This time she really did leave the room, straight down the staircase to the pantry. "Florita, please fix Bart some breakfast. And coffee. Mustn't forget the coffee. And make him eat lunch, too. It doesn't have to be a lot – as long as it's something that can be called food. I'm going to join the herd for a while. Bret and I will be back for supper."

"Si, Señorita. I will make Señor Bart comer algo sustancial."

"Good girl. Thank you." Sam put her hat on and left. She was going to ride with the boys, out where she could shake off some dust and some pain.


	15. Chapter 15 Beginnings and Endings

Carry Me Home

Chapter 15 – Beginnings and Endings

Bret, Jess, Jimmy and the rest of the ranch hands were not having an easy time with the cattle. Being free to roam and eat wherever and whatever they pleased all summer, they were not inclined to let people and horses tell them where to go and what to do. So it took a while before Bret realized that Samantha was now riding with the men as they attempted to herd the steers. He had to cut back around the southern end of the drive just to get to where she was.

"What are you doing out here?" It was almost necessary to shout to be heard over the noise.

"What?"

"What are you doing out here? You were supposed to stay with Bart." Right now Bret was none too happy that Sam had left his brother alone after she'd agreed to stay with him, at least for today.

She pulled her horse up alongside his. "He'll be fine. I talked to him before I left and he promised to behave."

"Are you serious? This is Bart we're talking about! Do you really expect him to do that?"

"Florita is there with him."

"Is she downstairs cooking or upstairs baby-sitting?"

"Downstairs. But Bret – "

"No buts about it, Samantha. Somebody needs to stay with him. He's not thinking straight." What he didn't say was 'just like last night with you.' He kicked his mount and took off towards the ranch like the devil himself was chasing him.

Sam was dumbfounded. No matter what she had or hadn't done in the past, Bret had never talked to her like that. Maybe he was right; she should have thought less about her need to get away from the house and more about the damage a full-grown man could inflict on himself when he wasn't functioning properly.

XXXXXXXX

It took Bret some time to get back to the Double C and he was concerned about his brother the whole way. What if he tried to go downstairs and he fell again? Why had Samantha left him alone? Did it have anything to do with the scene he'd walked in on this morning? Had she and Bart quarreled after he left with Jess?

'_Quit imagining things,_' he told himself. _'Everything is probably fine.'_ It was the word probably that worried him_. 'Settle down, Bret. You know what kind of a reaction you'll get if you go in there and try to be his pappy. He's already got one of those.' _

He had himself pretty well calmed down by the time he got to the ranch. He tied his horse out front and noticed one of the new porch chairs missing; then he walked in the door quietly, not knowing what he might find. He found no one. No Florita in the pantry, or the main room, or any of the bedrooms. And no Bart. The only encouraging sign was that he found no discarded cane, either. He walked through the whole house, calling "Bart! Florita! Where are you?" but got no answer from either of them. He went back outside; there was no sign of his brother or the pretty cook. Where could they have gone?

Now he was worried. Were they in some kind of trouble? But what, and from whom? Why did Sam have to come out to the cattle drive when she was supposed to be taking care of Bart? He was standing on the porch trying to figure out where they could be when he heard Florita's voice – she was singing a song in Spanish he'd never heard before and her voice was beautiful but faint. His eyes traced the path of the sound and he could see Florita, horses and a wagon under a shade tree to the northeast – but no Bart. The wagon obscured his view of the entire scene; the only way to be sure was ride out there. So he did.

His instincts were correct. When he got close enough to see the whole tableau, Bart was resting in the missing porch chair under the tree, listening to Florita, who was doing some kind of hand weaving while she sang. His brother was still in his nightshirt and robe, wrapped up in a blanket against the breeze. There was a slight smile on his face and he looked calm and relaxed. As Bret's horse walked up on the scene, Bart finally saw him approaching.

"Brother Bret," was Bart's solemn greeting, which belied the smile on his face.

"Bart," came the curt reply. Then he turned his attention to Florita, who was sitting on another blanket on the ground. "Miss Florita, what are you two doing out here?"

Florita looked at Bret with the eyes of the truly innocent. "Señor Bret, you are angry? We come out to enjoy the brillo de sol. You don't approve?"

"How did you get the chair all the way out here?"

"The wagon."

"You lifted it?" He had a hard time believing that.

"Si. I am fortissimo."

He turned his attention back to his brother. "Bart?"

"She's telling you the truth, Bret."

"What in God's name are you doing out of bed when you had a seizure less than forty eight hours ago?"

"Wasn't a seizure. You told me that yourself. It was a reaction to the aspirin." Bart sat there calmly, his arms crossed in front of him.

"So this is what you do?" Bret tried not to sound like Pappy when Bart pulled one of his shenanigans, but that's just who he sounded like.

"I could curl up in a ball and die if you'd like." Smile still in place, no trace of hostility in his voice.

"Don't even joke about that. It isn't funny."

"It wasn't meant to be funny, Brother Bret. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. It was a beautiful day and Florita suggested coming outside, just to get out of the house. She thought some sun might do me good. It was a nice change, to see open sky instead of four walls."

"What if something had gone wrong? What if you'd fallen? She's not strong enough to help you."

"She lifted that chair all by herself, and helped me in and out of the wagon. You'd be surprised."

"That's not the point."

"What is the point? I'm the one living with this. I needed some air. Florita offered to provide it. It was a good idea. Let it go, Bret."

"Bart, listen to me. If something happened – "

"Stop being an old woman!"

They looked at each other; one stunned into silence, the other mortified that he'd actually said it out loud.

Bart was the first to break. "Didn't mean that."

His brother responded very quietly. "Yes, you did. And you're probably right. But I've only got one brother and I don't plan on lookin' for a replacement anytime soon. We came here to get you well and so far we're arguing instead. Do you want to leave and go elsewhere?" This morning's vision once again crossed his mind.

Bart stared at the ground. "No."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

"Do you think we can have some peace and quiet without arguing?"

"Yes."

"Would you like me to stop asking questions now?"

"That would probably be good."

Bret dismounted and let the horse's reins drop to the ground. He went over and sat next to Bart on the ground, pulled out two cigars, lit one and handed it to his brother. The peace offering. Bart took it; offering accepted.

"Where's Sam?"

"Out with the herd. I left when she showed up."

"Oh." Bart wasn't sure what to make of his brother's statement. "Be gentle with Samantha. She's not in a real good place right now."

Now it was Bret's turn. "Oh?"

"Let's just say she's had a disappointment."

Bret nodded; he understood. What he'd seen this morning was not the beginning of something; it was the end. No wonder she didn't look pleased when he'd given her a hard time about his brother. "I'm afraid I've got some fences to mend there."

"Sam's tough. She'll survive. "

"Yep. I'll make it up to her." He paused, giving it some thought. "At least I'll try."

"She understands, Bret. It has nothing to do with her." What the younger gambler left unsaid was, 'It has everything to do with me.'

"Whaddya say, Big Brother? Back to the ranch?"

"Only if you're ready."

Bart smiled at his brother's concession. "I'm ready. Florita, how about you?"

"Si, Señor Bart. It's a good time." She stopped what she was doing and stood up. 'You see how fortissimo I am, no?"

"No, ma'am. You help me get Bart back in the wagon and your furniture moving days are over." As he said this he stood and helped his brother out of the chair. Between Bret, Florita and the cane they got him loaded, then Bret picked up the porch chair and swung it over the side and into the back. It wasn't as heavy as he'd imagined it to be. He grabbed his horse's reins off the ground and swung into the saddle, following Florita and the wagon carrying its precious cargo back to the ranch. He spent the time riding forming an apology of sorts to give to Samantha. Hopefully she'd accept it as easily as Bart had.


	16. Chapter 16 Burn, Baby, Burn

Carry Me Home

Chapter 16 – Burn, Baby, Burn

Samantha didn't return to the ranch that night. After the mess made the night before she saw no reason to go back; Bret would be there to see after his brother and Florita to cook. She'd brought her bedroll with her and decided the best thing for all involved was a night spent under the stars. After last night she could have slept anywhere.

Not that she expected to be doing much sleeping. There was too much on her mind – the biggest annoyance was how big a fool she'd made of herself. After Bret's encouragement she really thought she might have a chance with Bart – at long last. She should have listened to her own instincts and stayed away from him. Not that she blamed Bart for any of this – it's hard to compete with a ghost and she knew that going in. But she fooled herself into thinking this might be the time for them – and a door was slammed in her face. Gently, but slammed nevertheless.

So she bedded down with the boys riding herd – Jess, Jimmy, Randy and the rest of the crew, and spent a night listening to the wolves and coyotes. She didn't know she'd spent the last night in her house she would ever spend there.

XXXXXXXX

It seemed odd, cooking for just two people – the Mavericks. Florita made supper, a big pot of Mexican stew, and the inevitable pot of coffee and then headed home. Bart remained downstairs when they returned from their outing so that he could sit at the table and eat – something he hadn't been able to do for days. Bret served up the stew and cut himself a big slice of the cornbread from yesterday and set it out on the table before helping steer Bart over from the settee. It was nice eating dinner together, quiet and peaceful and no arguments. Bart managed to hold the spoon better than he had the last time and both were soon ready for coffee. Bret had a fire going and moved his brother over to the overstuffed chairs in front of it before pouring the black liquid. He cleared the table and joined the younger Maverick, hoping they could talk about what lay ahead for both of them.

"Any ideas about where you want to head when it's time to go?"

Bart had been giving this considerable thought but still had no definitive answer. "Not really," was the best reply he had. "Maybe San Francisco. Maybe New Orleans. Thought about goin' down to visit with Anderson but he's sold his place in Louisiana and bought a ranch in Nevada. Just got tired of the bayou, I guess. So, no, I'm open for anywhere."

"Hmmmmm. San Francisco sounds good. We haven't been there in a while. I heard the Palace Hotel just opened up a whole new gaming room for poker and it's attracting some big money. Would be nice to have some big money."

"Would be nice to have some small money."

Bret laughed. "Yeah, it surely would. Probably need to stop a few places along the way to make a big enough stake. Might even be fun."

"Wouldn't that be something for a change? Fun."

They both laughed at the joke. "Say, Bret?"

"Yes, Brother Bart?"

"About last night."

"Don't need to know a thing about last night." Bret meant it with all his heart. He grieved for the fact that he'd given Samantha a push in Bart's direction and it had only ended up hurting both of them. If he only had it to do over again.

"Yes you do. Samantha is a lady, through and through. I couldn't take advantage of her that way. I don't think I broke her heart; at least I hope I didn't. I sure didn't want to. So go easy on her about leavin' me here today, would ya? I told her to go ahead and go – she looked like she needed to be anywhere else. It was the least I could do after everything we've been through."

Bret heard what his brother had to say but had a different opinion. "I still don't think she should have left you here with just Florita," was the only comment he had to make. "But I won't get on her about it again."

"Good. Thanks. She did me favor by inviting us here, ya know."

"Bart, you own the ranch."

"No, Bret, I gave it to Sam. I didn't have any right to it." Bart was adamant about that fact.

"You had every right to it. It belonged to your wife." Sometimes Bret thought his brother had a strange sense of honor.

"Like the saloon belonged to you, me and Beau?" Bart already knew how Bret felt on that subject; Bart agreed with him. That's why Jody Mayfield now owned both of their shares of the place.

"That's different. Jody is a Maverick and you and I both know it." They hadn't talked about it, but Bret was certain that Jody was actually Jessie Maverick's daughter, and not Georgia Mayfield's. Once more the Maverick brothers completely agreed on something without ever discussing it.

They sat in front of the fire and talked for a while – about Pappy, Jody, Beau and Georgia, and all the friends they'd made in Montana. And even about those that certainly weren't counted as friends – Mort Bowman and the Sanborns among that group. There was only one person whose name was never mentioned – Rusty Meyers.

When the fire had died and the coffee pot was empty, Bret yawned and thought about bed. "Come on, Brother Bart, time for both of us to go to bed. To sleep. Alone."

Bart laughed, even though it really wasn't funny. "Yes sir, soon as you help me up the stairs, sir."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a real pain to have around?"

"Many times, sir. Many times."

Bart wrapped his arm around Bret's neck and leaned on the cane as they made their way slowly and laboriously up the stairs. Bret sat his brother on the edge of the bed and turned the blankets down, then helped pull them up. Just like tucking Bart in bed when they were both little boys, after momma died.

One thing he did differently tonight – he left a kerosene lamp burning dimly on the dresser, not wanting Bart to need something during the night and fall in the darkness. He also left a full glass of water just in case. When he was done he turned back to his brother in bed. "Need anything before I go?"

Bart snickered just a little. "A good-night kiss?"

"Watch out I don't give you a good-night something else," Bret answered, then paused for a moment in the doorway. "Sure you don't want me to stay here one more night?"

"I'm sure," Bart answered. "Good-night, Brother Bret. And thanks."

Bret let the affection creep into his voice for just a moment. "Good-night, Brother Bart. Holler if you need help."

"Sure."

XXXXXXXX

_This time it was a fire, and he was trapped in a room with only one way out. Flames licked at the curtains and it was impossible to breathe. Thick smoke filled the room and he clawed his way out of bed and onto the floor. His only hope was to stay low to the ground and try to crawl to the door. Heat from the flames enveloped him and practically melted his skin as he slowly struggled across the room. He tried to yell for his brother, for Sam, for anyone, but the smoke was too thick and acrid air filled his lungs. Before he could get any further he was coughing and choking, unable to even gasp for breath. The last thing he remembered was collapsing on the floor as the flames grew closer . . . . . ._

He awoke with a start and was sure that he was still dreaming. Smoke filled the room and the air was so thick it was almost impossible to breathe. He could hear the crackling of the flames and taste the bitterness the smoke left in his mouth. He was no longer asleep and the room was really in flames. It took just a moment for him to let out a yell; "BRET! WE'RE ON FIRE!"

There was no answer and no response. Bart rolled over and tried to sit up, clutching the bedpost to help pull him erect. He reached for the cane but lost it and heard it roll away. Before he could yell again his brother was there, tossing a blanket over his head and grabbing Bart and throwing him over his shoulder like a flour sack. "Put me down!" Bart yelled through the blanket, to no avail. Bret, coughing and choking from breathing in the smoke, held onto his brother for dear life and ran. Down the short hall, stumbling down the staircase and not stopping until he'd crashed through the front door and down the porch steps. Then he laid his brother down on the ground as carefully as he could and ran back inside.

"Bret, no! Stay here!" It did Bart no good to yell, Bret was already gone. Bart struggled to get the blanket off over his head and heard Bret crashing through the house. With nothing to help him leverage himself against the ground Bart had no hope of getting to his feet. He was forced to sit on the dirt and pray that his brother came out alive. When Bret finally reappeared he had an armload full of clothes – Bart's, Bret's and Samantha's – which he dropped on the ground next to his brother and turned back into the house. "BRET!" Bart yelped again, coughing and spitting to get his brother's name out, along with the smoke. "BRET!"

Once more Bret made his escape, and this time he only carried his own clothes and Samantha's. Bart's room was consumed in flames and everything left in there was lost. Among the missing items was his mother's Bible, the one Samantha had brought him just that morning. Bret dumped the clothes on the other pile and then fell to his hands and knees, turning his head away from his brother and retching his insides out, along with volumes of smoke. When he had no more within him to give he sank back on his posterior and coughed so violently that he shook. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tried to turn towards Bart. "Are you alright?" was all he could get out of his smoke filled lungs before he started coughing and shaking again.

"I'm fine. What about you?" Bart was having a hard time breathing, and he struggled to take in enough oxygen, but he hadn't run back into the fire twice. Bret, with no more voice, simply nodded his head 'yes.'

Without massive amounts of water and all the boys on the cattle drive the only thing the Mavericks could do was stare at the ranch as it went up in flames. "Caroline," was the one word that escaped Bart's lips while he and Bret sat in the dirt and watched the house burn to the ground.

XXXXXXXX

Someone was shaking her. "Go away," was Sam's only answer but the shaking continued.

"Miss Sam, wake up. I think the house is on fire." It was Jess's voice, and as soon as she heard the word 'fire' she was wide awake. She looked in the direction of the house, and Jess was pointing to a giant glow in the darkness.

"Oh my God! Bret and Bart! My house!" was all she could exclaim as she pulled herself out from under the blanket and to her feet. She spat out orders in a hurry. "Jess, Jimmy, Randy, get as many of the boys as you can afford to take and ride for the house. I'm going now!" And with that she was headed for her horse. She was off in just a few moments, as fast as she could mount the still saddled horse and before Jess had half of the men awake. She aimed straight for the bright glow in the night sky and prayed as she rode. Her house! Her beautiful possessions! Everything that Caroline had left behind. And then those didn't matter anymore, and the only thing she could think of was Bart. How would he be able to get out and down the stairs? And what about Bret? Could he get them both out while everything burned around him? She might love the younger gambler but she had a soft spot for his older brother, too. She quickly began to berate herself for sleeping out with the cattle and not going back to the ranch. If anything happened to Bart –

XXXXXXXX

The flames rose higher in the sky as the rest of the top floor caught and burned. Bret was still coughing and spitting and Bart kept trying to take breaths and felt nothing but a tightening in his chest and his lungs on fire. Finally he choked out "Why?" as he grabbed for his brothers arm. "Why go back?"

Bret waved his brother off as he crawled over to Bart and the pile of clothes on the ground and dug through it. After a minute he came up with something and triumphantly held it up. Belle Maverick's Bible. His coughing started all over again as he showed it to Bart, who couldn't believe Bret had succeeded in saving it. "This," he answered his brother, handing the precious book over. Bart took it gratefully and then managed to encircle Bret's neck with his arms and hug his brother close to him. "Thank you," he whispered in his brother's ear and they sat like that for a minute before Bret pulled away.

Something else in the pile of clothes caught his eye and Bart made a grab for it. The Montana cane survived, caught up underneath everything Bret had managed to retrieve. Bart tried to laugh but the only thing he succeeded in doing was start a coughing spasm. That's the way Samantha found them as she pulled her horse to a frantic stop in front of the now fully engulfed house. She ran to them and dropped to the ground, crying and laughing at the same time. The house was all but gone but the two of them were alive! She threw an arm around each of them and pulled them close until coughing spasms from both of them forced her to release her hold.

"You're alive!" was all she could say, over and over. Then the truth of what she'd just lost set in. "Oh my!" She saw the pile of clothes on the ground and wondered how they got there, but then concluded it had to be Bret. "You went back?" she asked him incredulously.

Still coughing and choking he managed a nod. "Why?" was her next question. Bart held up the Bible. "Oh." It made sense now. At least they had some clothes to wear. "Caroline's picture!"

Bret shook his head 'no.' "Sorry," he managed to choke out. "No time."

"It's alright. You did the best you could. Any idea what happened?"

Just as she finished asking the question, one of the barn cats ran out of what was left of the structure and across the yard, back to his real home. Samantha shook her head and said, "Jackson. Always trying to go where he doesn't belong." She thought for a minute and then asked, "Was there a lamp left somewhere?"

Bret nodded, and managed to choke out "Bart's room. Me."

"You left a light in Bart's room? So he could see if he woke up? That's it, isn't it? I forgot to warn you about Jackson. He gets in – got in – the house whenever he could. I'm sure it was Jackson."

Sam sat between the Maverick brothers, on the cold, hard ground, and the reality of what was just drawing to a conclusion set in, and she began to cry. The house that her Uncle Clement built with his own two hands; the house that her cousin grew up in; the house that she'd been sheltered in when her life overwhelmed her; and the house that Caroline died in. She looked at Bart and could read the anguish on his face as he realized the same things. Because of a misplaced lamp and a cat.


	17. Chapter 17 Reflections of My Life

Carry Me Home

Chapter 17 – Reflections of My Life

By the time the boys got there, not much of the house was standing. A few small flames still licked at anything that could blaze and the smell of burnt wood was everywhere. Jess and Jimmy started pumping well water into buckets to cool off everything that was smoldering and Randy got all the clothes carried into the bunkhouse. There was a separate area that was closed off for Sam, and bunks for Bart and Bret were cleared. No more luxury for anybody.

Sam hadn't considered her next move – she didn't have time. "We'll go into town tomorrow and see if we can get a stove out here for Florita to cook on. And some pots and pans. And whatever else we lost in the kitchen. Maybe there's something in the house – oops, what used to be the house - that's salvageable. Better find the coffee pot," she laughed, thinking of the way everyone drank coffee.

After what happened earlier, Samantha had two choices. She could mope and grieve and be miserable over what she'd lost, or she could laugh and celebrate the fact that no one was injured or killed. She chose the latter.

Bret finally grabbed one of the buckets from Jess and took a long drink. It helped some; he was still coughing smoke and his lungs felt like they'd been singed. He made sure that Bart got water, too, and then passed the bucket back to the ranch foreman. When everyone had done all they could to douse the remaining fire and smoldering embers, Sam called all of them in to the bunkhouse. "I don't know what this is gonna cost, boys, but we'll get through it somehow. I'm not leaving – soon as its safe we'll start building a new house. Might not be as grand, but it'll work. Everybody's still on payroll; the money from the steers will cover all the wages and things we need. Next spring may be a little tight, but for now we're fine. When the sun comes up, let's see if we can save anything from the house. After we get a good inventory, Bret and I can go into Dry Springs and replace what we have to."

Bart spoke up. "I'm going with you, Sam."

"Fine. Anybody got any questions?"

Pete Mitchell asked from the back "Anybody seen Jackson since this happened?" Pete's fondness for the cat was well known; he wanted to make sure his friend made it out safely. There was laughter all around and Bret volunteered, "He was headed for the barn, last we saw of him."

The group dispersed and Bart caught Sam's arm as she turned to go. "I've got some money, Sam, whatever you need is yours."

"I can't take that, Bart, you and Bret need a stake when you're ready to go."

"Is there still a saloon in Dry Springs?" Bart asked.

"Yes," was her answer.

"Then we'll have a stake when we need one." One thing the Mavericks didn't lack was confidence in their poker playing.

"I won't take charity." Samantha was determined there would be no handouts.

"It's not charity, Sam. It's an investment. If you ever decide to sell this place you can't do it without a house. And if Bret hadn't left a lamp turned on for me, you'd still have one."

"I can't take it, Bart. You already gave me the ranch. That's enough."

Pain; in his eyes there was always pain. She saw it there now, as he said, "For Caroline?"

Anything he wanted, to remove that look of pain. "Alright."

He smiled at her and the curtain that hid his pain once again descended. "Good girl."

XXXXXXXX

By the time Florita arrived right after dawn the coffee pot had been found, a little crisp on the outside but still functional. Most of the metal utensils in the pantry were useable, and the pots and pans made it through the fire. The pantry hadn't burned white hot, so the glasses and plates survived, too. Upstairs had collapsed into the downstairs and it was just a matter of sifting through the rubble. Randy found a remnant of Bart's saddlebags and inside, tucked safely away, were the gold and black opal cufflinks that he'd inherited from his Mother. One more treasure saved.

A small campfire was made and a big pot of coffee brewed from the supply kept in the bunkhouse. Samantha sent everyone but Jess and Randy back to the cattle drive and entrusted Jimmy to tell the rest of the hands about her plans and their pay. Jess hitched the horses to the wagon and Sam and Bart left for town, Bart still coughing from the smoke inhalation regularly; Bret and Jess to follow in the buggy. Jess took the reins because Bret was having the same trouble catching his breath as his brother and would go into coughing spasms every few minutes.

Samantha was quiet for a long time; where her mind was Bart didn't know. Finally about half-way to town she spoke. "How do you feel?"

"Not too bad, considering I got treated like a sack of potatoes."

She wanted to laugh but somehow she couldn't. "No, I meant about losing the house."

He considered his answer carefully. "It was only some logs and things."

"It's where you fell in love with Caroline. All your memories were there."

She didn't have to see his eyes to hear the pain in his voice. "It's where she died, Samantha. That memory was there, too."

"I suppose. I wish we could have saved a picture of her."

He pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket. "We did."

Tucked inside the flap was a picture that he'd taken from Caroline's room after she died. Sam left out a gasp and almost had to stop the wagon. "I didn't know you had that. When did she give it to you?"

His very quiet response, "She didn't. I took it."

She couldn't be mad at him. It was the only picture they had left. "I'm glad."

The rest of the ride was made in silence. Bart shifted on the wagon seat several times, uncomfortably, but didn't complain. Sam tried to make the ride as painless as possible; the man had suffered enough.

Once they got to town Sam got out of the wagon and did her best to help Bart out. It was a good thing he had his cane; it helped a lot with balance, which was still not right. The list for the general store was quite long, but they had almost everything the ranch needed. Including a slightly used stove that someone had traded in for supplies. Jess and Bret struggled with it but finally got it loaded on the wagon. Everything else was divided up between the wagon and the buggy and packed in. Bart took note, the 'Dry Springs Silver Dollar Saloon' was now 'Sweet Betsy's Watering Hole', but it looked the same from the outside. Once he got some strength back he would investigate Sweet Betsy and find out if she ran an honest game. Or see if Bret would rather do the investigating.

They had to go slower to get back to the ranch; the wagon was carrying a heavy burden. Once there it was quick work to get the stove to its temporary home in the corner of Sam's office in the bunkhouse. Florita immediately started cooking; no one had eaten since dinner the night before. Soon the wonderful smells of her gigantic breakfasts filled the noses of those left to clean-up. All were more than ready to eat when she was ready to serve.

Then started the difficult task of sorting through the rubble to find anything still useable. Odd things were discovered, like a silver brush and comb set that had once belonged to Samantha's Aunt, and a deck of marked cards Bret kept for emergencies. Jess, Randy and Bret were as thorough as they could be given that a lot of the crumbling remains of the house were still hot. Large pieces of half-burned furniture were piled up in a corner of the downstairs, to be repaired or destroyed as required. Bart did his best to keep himself occupied, unhappy that he couldn't be more of a help than he was. Samantha finally had him assist her with the list she was keeping of the things that would need to be replaced. A bathtub; a sink for the pantry; towels, sheets and bedding; and a myriad of personal items too long to mention. By supper time that evening they had a better handle on the new supplies, and between Jess, Randy and Bret they had a good idea of the amount of lumber required to get started rebuilding.

It seemed strange to be in the bunkhouse and not the ranch house. Bart had to laugh, all the times growing up that he'd wanted to be in the top bunk rather than the bottom; at this point in life he was still in the bottom bunk. He used the cane to poke his brother above him. "Still want the top bunk, Bret."

There was laughter from above. "Still can't have it, Bart. Unless you can climb up here and take it away from me."

"Sure. Let me do just that."

Laughter, and then silence. Jess and Randy had gone back to the cattle drive, finally. Sam was in her office with the door closed going over her list of necessities to buy. The brothers Maverick had the bunkhouse to themselves. Funny that a place where so many men slept should be so empty.

"Did you lose anything important last night?"

"Not anything I can't replace. You?"

"Nope. Sorry about the rough treatment."

"Hey, I was fine once you put me down. Until you ran back inside. Twice, I might add."

"Things I needed to get out." Like Belle Maverick's Bible, perhaps?

"Nothing was that important," Bart responded.

"Not even Momma's Bible?" Bret asked.

"Considering what I could have lost trying to get it? No."

Bret was truly touched. Sometimes they disagreed; sometimes they fought. Once in a while they even got mad at each other. But they always had each other's backs. And if one was in trouble, the other one was there to help. It had been that way since they were little. It would always be that way. Until the day they died.


	18. Chapter 18 Sweet Betsy's

Carry Me Home

Chapter 18 – Sweet Betsy's

The cattle were delivered to the broker in Dry Springs and sold for $1 more per steer than Sam had hoped for. That would certainly help with the rebuilding of the house. Once the ranch hands were free from the cattle drive, the work of clearing out the skeleton of the demolished structure could begin in earnest.

Both Maverick brothers coughed continuously for days, particularly Bret, who'd gotten the worst of the smoke in his trips through the fire. Bart had almost as difficult a time breathing but didn't tell anyone; the last thing he wanted was more attention, from Sam or his brother. Bret was actually quite valuable oncethe debris had been cleared; he'd helped Uncle Ben and Cousin Beau build the addition to their house and learned a lot. Jess continued his normal job but Randy, being a furniture builder of sorts, also played a big role in the rebuilding. Things moved along smoothly for a few days, allowing everyone to settle into a routine and some things to get back to normal.

Bart was bored to tears but did his best to hide it from everyone. All he could do was sit and watch as his body and mind continued to heal. He tried to help Sam whenever he could but most of her time was taken up by the construction; consequently when he wasn't with Samantha he could be found with Florita talking about Mexico and the time he'd spent there after Caroline's death. His Spanish improved considerably and he taught the Hispanic cook the finer points of poker and Texas cooking.

About a week after the building started Sheriff Foster came to see Samantha. They spent a good two hours in her office with the door closed and she didn't look happy when he left. Bart and Florita had spent the time playing poker and they quit once the sheriff was gone. Samantha came out to talk to Bart and her cook went back to doing just that – cooking.

Since Sam wanted some privacy, she and Bart went to the corral to watch Jess break in a new horse. It was good exercise for Bart; as long as he wasn't in a rush his mobility had increased and he could get most anywhere with the cane. Sam was quiet until they got to the corral; there she felt at ease to tell her friend and unrequited love what was bothering her.

"I've got a problem, Bart, and it could prove costly if I don't get it fixed." She folded her hands over the top rail of the fence and waited for Bart to respond.

"What kind of a problem, Sam?" He wondered what could have befallen her now.

"Before we came here to Dry Springs – you and I – you knew about all the things I was involved with?"

"Probably not all of them, Sam, but I've got a good idea. What's wrong?"

"Sheriff Foster has a warrant for my arrest."

"What? What for?"

"Shooting a man in a con gone wrong." Sam studied the ground as she relayed the information.

"Where? When? Did you?"

She looked him right in the eyes as she answered. "St. Joe; three or four years ago, and NO I did not. How could you even ask me that?"

Good question. One to which Bart had an unwelcome answer. "Samantha, you've done some sketchy things in the past."

Sam shot him a look that would have withered most men. Bart simply added, "As have we all. If you weren't involved, why does the sheriff think you were?"

"My purse was stolen. Don't look at me that way, my purse was really stolen. Somebody used it to pass herself off as me. She did it, not me."

"And does she have a name?"

"Charity Spencer. I know because she used it in St. Louis and I got a name and a description. Doesn't look anything like me. Don't know why she thought she could get away with it."

"My love, your reputation used to precede you."

"Not anymore!"

Bart put a hand on her shoulder. "I know that, Sam, but reputations are a funny thing. They follow you around even after you've created a new one. Why didn't Foster arrest you today?"

"Because he knows me. I mean he knows the me I am now. Not the Samantha I was. He believed me when I told him what happened."

Bart shook his head, sorry to make Sam realize she still had a problem. "Is there anyone who can clear this whole mess up?"

"The man in St. Joe that Charity shot. He can identify her. Like I said, we don't look anything alike."

"You know what you have to do, don't you?"

"Go to Missouri?" She wasn't happy and kicked at the dirt. She was hoping for a different solution.

"That's it exactly, darlin.' Otherwise this is going to follow you around forever."

"I don't want to go to Missouri." Now she sounded like the Samantha Crawford of old, wanting to do almost anything to get out of the mess she was in. Except the one thing she needed to do.

Bart reached over and took her hand in his. "But you have to. That's the only way to put the old Samantha to rest once and for all."

"Would you go with me?"

He nodded 'yes.' "How soon do you want to leave?" He even surprised himself when he answered her in the affirmative.

"Can't go until next week. Got a load of supplies for the construction coming in Friday. I need to be here for that. After that, anytime."

He nodded again. "Let me talk to Bret and find out what he wants to do. He's probably ready to get out of here for a while."

Sam looked down at the ground again. "I'd rather Bret didn't go with us."

He was confused by that. "Why?"

She hesitated to give him an answer. Finally she spoke up. "He doesn't know me the way you do."

"Does that mean I know more about you than Bret does?"

Sam was suddenly shy. "Yes. Both of us – the old me and the new me. I'd rather he didn't know more about her – the person I was."

"It wouldn't make a bit of difference to my brother, Sam, and you know that. Now what's the real reason?"

She wasn't about to give him the real reason; somewhere in the far reaches of her heart she hoped against hope that spending time together, just the two of them, might change his mind about his feelings for her. "Two's company, three's a crowd?"

That made him laugh. "He's been really good to me, Sam. If he wants to come, we need to let him."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Maverick."

"Thank you, Miss Crawford. I'll remember that."

XXXXXXXX

"Whatta'ya say, Bret, want to go?"

Supper was over; it was the first chance Bart had to talk to his brother since speaking to Samantha earlier in the day. Bret at first looked confused, then uncertain, then disinterested. "What kind of business has Samantha got in St. Joe?"

"Something personal that she has to take care of. That's all I know."

Bret was skeptical at best. "And you're willing to ride in a stagecoach all that way just because she asked you to?"

"After the way I made her feel and what we've all been through? Yes, I am. Sounds like you're not."

"I'd really rather not go. I can't believe you're willing to. If I'm goin' that far by stage I'm goin' to San Francisco. That's a trip worth makin'. St. Joe's the wrong way."

"So this is where we part company for a while?" Bart asked his brother.

"Sounds like it," Bret replied. "If you're really goin'."

"I'm goin' with her, Bret. It's the least I can do."

Bret once again wondered at his brother's sense of honor and chivalry. "Then I'm goin' west. Sounds like some poker in town is in order before that."

Bart nodded. "Yes, it does. I feel well enough to try it. You game?"

"Name the day."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Okay, little brother. Let's see if you can still play the game that Pappy taught us."

"Better than you."

"You're on."

XXXXXXXX

Bart was careful to make sure he was well rested before he and Bret went to Dry Springs to check out 'Sweet Betsy's.' Once he got to playing poker he didn't want to be interrupted by an over-protective brother worried about his 'rest.' Besides, last time he checked he could still sit down and play. Probably with his eyes closed.

Bart still wasn't riding so they took the buggy into Dry Springs and laughed all the way in about the 'roving' gamblers. The saloon had three poker tables going and there was room at two of them. Each brother took a seat at a different table to see what the cards would bring. There was no sense in playing against each other; the object was to win, not beat your brother. Good poker playing and a small piece of luck was on both their sides, and they were successful more often than not. By the end of the night Bart was ahead several hundred dollars and Bret was up over a thousand. 'Sweet Betsy's' ran an honest game.

It was several months since Bart had done any playing and he was satisfied to find his skills as sharp as ever. Given the choice he would have stayed until sunrise but Bret pleaded exhaustion and they returned to the ranch. The bunkhouse was dark; it was the middle of the night. Cow hands might not keep hours like that but gamblers do. All in all it was a good night and they intended to go back before Bart and Sam left for Missouri. Dry Springs wasn't a gamblers mecca but it was the only thing around for miles and gave the ranch hands someplace to lose their pay. Better in the Maverick's pockets than Sweet Betsy's.

Dawn came at the usual time and all of the ranch hands got up and got their coffee, then their breakfast from Florita. The brothers slept in for the first time in a long time. Bart was woken up by his brothers coughing, which had continued unabated for almost two weeks. He reciprocated by poking underneath his brothers bunk with the cane. "Hey you up there, quit coughing."

"Can't," cough, cough, "too much smoke last night."

"Better get used to that if you're going to San Francisco," was Bart's joking reply. "Do you smell food?"

"Nope. But I do smell coffee."

Samantha came walking out of her office, the temporary kitchen, with two steaming mugs of Florita's finest. "Looks like the gamblers are back," she told them as she handed each a drink.

"Yep," said Bret, dropping down off the top bunk and almost spilling coffee all over Bart. "Gonna get worse before it gets better."

"Not so," replied his brother. "I did fine last night. Couple more of those and I'll be set for the trip."

"Glad you think so. I need more than that to spend any time in San Francisco."

"That's your problem, Brother Bret, not mine. I don't have such lofty ambitions."

"No you don't. St. Joe is not San Francisco. When are you leaving?" Bret inquired of Samantha.

"A week from tomorrow, if that's alright with you." She directed her remark at Bart.

"Fine with me. I'll be ready when you are."

"Maybe by the time we get back Randy'll have the walls up."

"He should," Bret volunteered.

"Bart? Nothing to say?" Sam asked him.

He shook his head. "I don't know if I'm comin' back, Sam."

She looked stunned. "Why?"

He'd put off telling her ever since the thought had first crossed his mind. "Just might stay there for a spell."

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because I need to," was the only answer she was going to get. Uh-oh. The Maverick wanderlust had reared its head. She knew what that meant. God only knew if or when she might see him again. Her heart broke as she finally realized that no matter how long or how hard she loved Bart Maverick, he wasn't going to love her back. Not now or ever.


	19. Chapter 19 Doubt and the Devil

Carry Me Home

Chapter 19 – Doubts and the Devil

They'd been traveling for four days and it didn't seem like they were any closer to St. Joe than when they started. That wasn't true; they were a little more than halfway to their destination. Bart did a lot of sleeping and Samantha did a lot of thinking. She didn't like the thought of them just being friends and nothing more; but being friends was better than being nothing. That's the hand fate had dealt her. She was trying to accept it and get on with her life.

Ever since the night Sam offered her love and Bart politely said "No, thank you" she knew the end was a foregone conclusion. One day Bart would feel the need to be somewhere other than where she was and would pack his bags and go. She just didn't expect it to be this soon. He'd stayed with her through the hardest part – clearing the remains of the burned out ranch house away and starting to build a new home, one that would really be hers. Smaller, perhaps, but hers.

Bret had gone, too, left for San Francisco the day before they departed for St. Joe. His destination was the Palace Hotel and he'd get there when he had enough cash to get into the high-stakes games and gamble for some big money. He and Bart had spent the better part of the last year and a half together and, as close as they were, both needed some time apart. Thus the traveling in different directions. If one was needed the other one would find him.

She'd built a new life for herself, a lonely life but a life predicated on working for what she wanted rather than conning someone out of it. She hadn't chosen this life willingly; it had been thrust upon her when her cousin Caroline was killed. It was a struggle at first, but she took to it and made something out of the ashes, just like she was doing with the house. All that was left was to finally put the past to rest until it died with no one the wiser. That was her purpose for going to St. Joe.

He had walked back into the gambler's life, and done it willingly, when there was a way out. She sighed, knowing full well that the Maverick brothers were exactly what they'd always purported to be - drifters, men without roots and no desire for any, always chasing money and never being satisfied, no matter how much they had. Bret and Bart Maverick were the opposite of what that image implied – they were decent, honorable and honest gentlemen. Not above bending the law when absolutely necessary, but not a truly larcenous bone in their bodies. Even if their Pappy would never admit it, they'd turned out exactly the way he'd raised them. No doubt he was secretly proud of that.

So here Bart was, in a coach going somewhere he had no need to be, just because she'd asked him to. That request and feeling a little guilty for not returning her feelings had done it. She wanted to believe that he would've loved her given the right set of circumstances, but that was not to be. And by her own doing, since she was the one that got him to marry her cousin in the first place, maybe the great love of his life. Oh well, at least he'd had one, and Caroline had loved him back, just as fiercely as she could for the short time they had. That love was something Sam would never feel from him. Time to put it away, that unrequited love, and get on with the life she'd built.

She watched him sleep, which he could afford to do because they were the only two passengers on the coach thus far. If they stopped in a town overnight he played poker until the coach was ready to leave in the morning. If they drove all night he slept as much as he could stand and read the rest of the time. He was with her, but he wasn't there.

It looked like they were going to stop and rest the horses tonight, and he'd promised they'd have dinner together and he'd forego poker. She was hoping that would really happen; who knew if she'd ever see him again after this trip? She was returning to New Mexico by herself; he was staying in St. Joe and then going on to wherever the wind took him. At least he was leaving in better physical condition than when he'd arrived; his bodily wounds had healed for the most part, even though he still depended on the cane if something was difficult or he got overly tired. His mental wounds – she'd tried her best to help heal them, to no avail. He would get over Caroline and the events in Montana when he was ready, and not until. Maybe somewhere along the road he would meet another great love, but until that happened he'd only be half a person.

They were spending the night in a little town called Sand Dunes, Kansas. She shuddered to think what the name implied. They'd be there soon, and she'd have one more evening enjoying the pleasure of his company. If it weren't so bizarre it would be funny. She was a beautiful, charming woman that many a man had fallen for, only to be spurned for one reason or another. The one man she'd finally decided to love spurned her for a ghost. How was a girl supposed to compete with that?

She was deep in thought when she finally noticed him awake and watching her. Let him. Maybe someday he'd understand what he'd given up for a deck of cards.

XXXXXXXX

He tried to sleep as much as he could to avoid spending any more time with Sam. The expression in her eyes was painful to see, and it was there every time she looked at him. He knew that she loved him, and he'd tried to love her back. Who wouldn't love Samantha Crawford; beautiful, witty, smart as a whip; everything a man could want in a woman. Except. Her name was Samantha, and not Caroline, and after two years without his wife he still grieved for her. That secret was known by only a handful of people.

Outside he was the same person – the sharp witted, good-looking, young gambler – that he'd always been. Inside he was so much more – and less. It was a marriage of inconvenience – a promise made to this very same woman, Samantha Crawford, that tied him to a relationship he'd never desired. And never knew how much it had come to mean to him, until the very moment it was gone. And for too many minutes every day it was all he could think of. He loved her and he lost her.

So he went on, playing the part of the happy-go-lucky card sharp. And sometimes even he believed it. There had to be a way to live without the pain; a way to deal with the damage and move on. He wondered if it was Samantha, and he tried. But he just couldn't get around the terrible loss he felt whenever he looked at her. She'd been in the pantry and Caroline had been outside. If it had been the other way around Caroline might still be alive.

He sighed and wondered how much Samantha actually guessed about the depth of his lingering feelings for her cousin. Who knew he was even capable of such emotion? The only thing that even came close was the love he had for his family. At least that made more sense; with the exception of his mother they were all still alive. Maybe he worried over it too much. Maybe the best thing to do was just accept the feelings and the pain that went with them and learn to live with it. Maybe the trip back to Dry Springs and the Double C Ranch and all the memories the trip invoked was a mistake after all.

All that was behind him now, and the only obligation to those memories he still had to deal with was sitting in the coach in front of him. Samantha had certainly changed her life, and when given the opportunity to sell the ranch and go back to that old life she'd looked the past in the face and rejected it. Why couldn't he do the same? He wondered if he could chase Caroline's ghost out of his life once and for all if Samantha was with him on the road rather than in Dry Springs. Was that even an option? Had he hurt Sam so badly that she was through with him? Was it worth a try, or would it just do more damage if he was wrong?

Maybe it was better to have all these unanswered questions than to risk the potential damage from the wrong answers. Sam had just said something to him and he'd not heard her. "I'm sorry Sam. What was that?"

'_Great,'_ she thought, _'ignored again.'_ "When do you think we'll get there?"

"To St. Joe or Sand Dunes?" He had no idea which one she meant.

"What a name for a town. Sand Dunes, of course. When will we get to Sand Dunes?"

"Probably a couple hours. Sam, are you in a hurry to get back to Dry Springs?"

"Well, yes, I want to be there for the building. Why?"

Should he give her an honest answer or not? "What if I asked you to stay in St. Joe for a few days?"

She watched his face, hoping to detect any hint of why he was asking. There was none. "Depends. How long and why?" Was that too blunt? What if he had something in mind but was too uncomfortable to ask?

"However long you can. I know you want to get back to the house."

He hadn't answered the second question. "Why?"

His answer surprised her. "Because I don't want you to go yet."

What did that mean? Was he unsure of his feelings? Was he second guessing himself? Was she willing to risk finding out? "Let's just have dinner tonight and see what comes of it."

XXXXXXXX

Dinner was dinner. With a town named Sand Dunes they were probably lucky to get fed at all. There was one little room with a bed available at the stage coach stop and Bart made sure Sam got that. He got pillows and a blanket and the floor. "Will you sleep in my room?" Sam asked him when they turned in.

"I don't think you can call that a room," was his answer. Then he laughed. "As long as you promise not to step on me."

"I don't have a light to leave on for you."

"Wait, isn't that how we burned down the house?" More laughter. "Sure, Sam, your room it is."

There was barely enough space on the floor to lie down. They got situated, and everything was so quiet you could hear the mice running. Until Sam spoke. "Bart?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Why did you ask me to stay in St. Joe?"

It was complicated. How to explain it to her without hurting her yet again? There was a time to be Galant and a time to be honest. "Because I care about you."

That was one she hadn't heard for a while. "You care about me?"

"Alright, I said it wrong. That night – maybe it wasn't you or me. Maybe it was the place. That house, that ranch, that town. Maybe. I don't know. Maybe we should find out."

'_Maybe we already did,_' she thought, but out loud she said, "Maybe."


	20. Chapter 20 The Chameleon

Carry Me Home

Chapter 20 – The Chameleon

Traveling was different the next day. Samantha wasn't sure who it was that had been in the stage coach with her for the first four days of the trip, but it hadn't been Bart Maverick. Not the Bart that was with her today. He was alert, he was awake, he was present. He told jokes. He told stories. She listened and they laughed. They played poker. She finally told him the full, complete story of Bret and The Book of Hoyle, and he thought it was hilarious. He told her about Bret and Beau and him growing up in Texas. He told her about his mother and how much he'd missed her. He told her things he hadn't told anyone in a long, long time.

The time passed quickly and they spent that night in Topeka, the capital, with fine restaurants and loud saloons. Sam had the luxury of a bath and changed clothes; once dressed she looked like the old Samantha. Bart escorted her to the best restaurant he could find, and they had a wonderful evening. When dinner was over they returned to the hotel and Bart's room, where they played more poker and talked the evening away. They hadn't spent time together like this in years; since the days before Caroline. When it was late Bart walked Sam back to her room and kissed her on the cheek; then he thought twice about it and put his arms around her and really kissed her. Sam didn't pull away this time. He took her key from her and unlocked her door, then opened it and handed the key back to her. "Night, Sam," was followed by another kiss, then he turned and walked back to his room.

Sam closed the door and leaned against it. Her mind was whirling. In a split second she made her decision and went back into the hall, locking her door behind her. She crept softly down the hall and stood at Bart's door for almost five minutes, wondering whether to knock. Finally she did, softly, and his voice answered her. "Yes, who's there?"

"Samantha," she whispered.

The door remained closed. "Go back to your room, Sam," she heard from the other side. "We're not doing something we might regret later. Goodnight."

She stood at his door another five minutes, hoping against hope that he might change his mind. Finally she went back to her own room and cried herself to sleep.

XXXXXXXX

He woke the next morning with a guilty feeling. Had he really sent Samantha away last night rather than let her in? He'd wanted to open the door and take her in his arms; wanted for all the world to take her to his bed. He couldn't do that until he was sure of his feelings. He got dressed and packed, then went to her room and knocked.

"Samantha, its Bart. Are you up?"

There was no answer. Maybe she wasn't up yet? Maybe she'd already left? If so, she was unhappy with the way last night had gone.

He went downstairs to the dining room. No Samantha there either. He took a seat and ordered breakfast; the coach wouldn't make another stop until it reached St. Joe. He was finishing his coffee when Sam entered the room. She looked at him and hesitated, then she finally walked over to his table and sat down. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she answered rather curtly. "You're up early."

"I knocked at your door."

"Oh?" she asked casually. "I didn't hear you."

"Did you want breakfast? You've got time." He heard the tone in her voice and knew she was annoyed with him.

"No, Bart, what I want is an answer from you. Kiss me like that and then send me to my room? Are we back to that again?"

He shook his head, trying to reconcile his feelings with his actions from her perspective. "Sam, I don't mean to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. But neither one of us should do something we might come to regret. I want us to be sure. Can you live with that?"

She thought for a moment before giving her answer. "Not happily or willingly, but I will."

He smiled at her and she could no longer be upset with him. "Come on, we're almost there. Let's go catch a stage."

XXXXXXXX

It took most of the day to get to St. Joe. Missouri was almost as flat as Kansas and there was nothing interesting to look at. Bart and Sam were quieter than the day before, and she dozed in his arms in the afternoon. When the stage finally pulled into St. Joseph, they were both glad the trip was over. Bart registered them at the hotel, still with separate rooms. Samantha decided to visit the sheriff and get the whole stolen purse debacle over first thing in the morning, and she promptly fell asleep, fully dressed, on the bed.

When she woke up it was dark. She got up from the bed and washed her face and straightened her hair, then changed clothes and went down to the dining room. Dinner was still being served and she ordered that and coffee. Bart wasn't there. No doubt he'd found a saloon and a poker game and his attention was focused elsewhere.

Halfway through the meal he entered the room. He was carrying the cane but not using it at the moment. He smiled when he saw Sam and joined her. "Just coffee," he told the server. "So you finally woke up?" He directed that at Samantha.

"Yes, and I feel ever so much better. Did you eat something?"

"Uh, yes," he told her.

"Was it food?"

He chuckled. "Yes. There's a saloon right down the street, on the way to the sheriff's office. 'The Gilded Birdcage.' They've got something they called 'steer stew.' I didn't ask what was in it, just ate it."

Sam took another bite of her dinner. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You needed the rest."

The server brought his coffee. "Thank you." Back to Samantha. "Sheriff's out of town until tonight. Talked to his deputy. They're most anxious to get this all straightened out."

"Good. I'm anxious to go home."

He stiffened in the chair beside her and his face changed. "I thought the idea was for you to stay here for a few days."

"It was. It is. I am, I mean. For a few days."

He visibly relaxed. "Good. I thought you'd changed your mind."

She reached over and touched his cheek. "Not a chance, Mr. Maverick. You don't get rid of me so easily."

He picked her fork up and handed it to her. "Eat. We've got other things to do."

"We do?"

He smiled slyly. "Yes ma'am, we do. I want you to tell me the whole story about this mess four years ago. And we need to shop tomorrow. Remember the fire?"

Now it was her turn to be grim. The awful glow in the sky and her enormous fear that he wouldn't get out in time. "Yes, I do. All too well." She tried to forget the fear. "But you, shopping?"

"You'll be surprised," he promised. "Are you done yet?"

"I certainly am, darlin'," she replied. "Let's go to . . . . . . your room."

XXXXXXXX

The next morning was a beautiful day. The sun was shining in the window and for a moment she forgot the arrest warrant and why she was actually here. She got out of bed and dressed hurriedly, then went to his door. She knocked but got no response. She knocked again and heard a muffled "Hmmm?'"

"Bart, it's Sam. Aren't you up yet?"

He was slow to answer. "Sure. In a minute."

She waited outside his door for a good five minutes. Finally she heard the sounds of the cane tapping on the floor as he made his way to the door. "Sorry," he apologized as he opened it. He was fully dressed. He saw the inquisitive look in her eyes. "Didn't sleep well last night. Got up early and got dressed, then thought it was too early. So I lay back down and fell asleep."

She entered his room and pointed at the cane. "Why that this morning?"

"Just a little stiff," he told her. Samantha got the feeling that wasn't all there was to it. She'd caught him not being totally honest about something and she wasn't willing to let it go.

"From what?"

"Endless days in a stage coach." She caught the tone in his voice that said "Let it go, Samantha. I'm done talkin' about it."

Just as she turned around to say something else there was a knock on the door.

"Who's there?"

"Deputy Smithfield, Mr. Maverick. You wanted to know when the sheriff was back – he got in late last night but he's at the jail now."

"Thanks Deputy. We'll be along shortly." Neither said anything for a minute and they heard boots walking away and back downstairs.

"I'm starving," Sam informed him. "Do you think they'll wait?"

"They've waited this long." He bent to kiss her on the cheek, then thought better of it and pulled back. "They'll wait."


	21. Chapter 21 Never Comin' Back

Carry Me Home

Chapter 21 – Never Comin' Back

The sheriff of St. Joe, Missouri was a fair man. Aaron Estabrook was his name, and he'd been sheriff for nine years. The town had grown a lot since he took the job, and all kinds of people came through; some settled there. Some moved on and never came back. Some caused trouble before they left. Samantha Crawford was one of those.

Almost four years ago Sam had come into St. Joe and driven all the single men crazy. And most of the married ones, too. She was southern and charming and beautiful, and just about the most devious woman Sheriff Estabrook had ever met. After causing as much trouble among the male population as one woman could cause she came to the jail and claimed that her purse had been stolen. Pilfered from her hotel room while she was at dinner. She gave him a description of the purse and he never saw her again. About ten days later she got into some kind of a disagreement that had the potential to turn violent with a local man, Evan Clancy, and the end result was not good. She shot Clancy and disappeared. It had taken him all this time to locate her and finally get a judge to issue an arrest warrant. And when he wired the information to the sheriff in Dry Springs, New Mexico, no arrest followed.

Sheriff Estabrook returned to town bone weary from riding almost two hundred miles and wasn't pleased when his deputy told him that Miss Crawford had finally shown up in St. Joe. With a slick looking gambling man that was probably her partner. Well, he'd deal with her tomorrow. And the partner named Maverick. The next morning he sent Deputy Smithfield to the hotel to let her know that he was back. Then he sent Smithfield out to Clancy's place to ask him to come identify her. And he waited. And waited.

It was late morning when she finally walked in, and the years had been kind to her. Still a beautiful woman, but a different kind now. You could see by the look in her eyes that she'd been through some hard times and come out a different person for it. And if that was Smithfield's idea of a 'slick looking gambling man' the poor boy needed a better education in reading people. The man that accompanied her was dressed like a gambler, but carried himself differently. This man was educated and intelligent, polite and a gentleman. You could tell by the way he treated Samantha, opening doors and pulling out chairs. And probably not a well man; he carried a cane, which he used on occasion, and appeared thin and pale. Estabrook stood to be polite and offered them both a chair in front of his desk.

"Miss Crawford, you know I have a warrant for your arrest on the charge of attempted murder. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you in jail right now."

Maverick reached across the desk to shake hands with the sheriff. "My name's Bart Maverick, sheriff. I'm a friend of Miss Crawford's. You shouldn't 'throw her in jail' because she isn't guilty of any crime."

"Mr. Maverick, the man she shot identified his assailant as Samantha Crawford." The sheriff was firm on that point.

"Ah, sheriff," Bart answered, "Miss Crawford has already explained that. She reported her purse stolen to you yourself approximately ten days before the shooting incident occurred."

"That's true, Mr. Maverick. That's why I sent Deputy Smithfield out to Evan Clancy's place to have the man she shot come to town and identify her himself. He should be here soon. Can I offer you coffee while we wait?"

"Certainly," Bart replied. Samantha shook her head 'no.' The sheriff walked over to the well-used coffee pot and poured a cup.

Bart turned to Sam. "This Clancy fellow wouldn't identify you out of spite, would he?"

Sam was perplexed by the question. "Why would he? I never even met the man."

"Good." He accepted the cup of coffee from the sheriff and they waited. Within a few minutes Smithfield and Clancy walked into the jail, obviously disagreeing about something. Clancy looked at the sheriff and asked, "What did you need me for, Aaron?"

"I need you to identify the woman that shot you, Evan," Estabrook replied, looking in Samantha's direction.

"Where is she?" Clancy asked.

"Right in front of you," came the answer.

Evan Clancy stepped back and took a good look at Samantha. Then he tipped his hat to her and said "Sorry, ma'am, if this's caused you any trouble." He turned back to the sheriff. "Aaron, this may be Samantha Crawford, but this sure ain't the woman that shot me. The Samantha Crawford that I met wasn't no lady. And she was dark haired and nowhere near as pretty."

Aaron Estabrook looked fit to be tied. "Are you sure? This is Samantha Crawford."

Clancy shook his head and you could hear the displeasure in his voice. "I'm sure. This ain't the woman that shot me." He didn't wait for the sheriff to say anything else, he just turned in his tracks and went back outside.

"Are you satisfied, Sheriff? Miss Crawford would like to be assured that this matter is settled." The only thing the trip had done was give him time to reconsider his earlier decision about him and Sam.

Estabrook was caught between a rock and a hard place. He'd never believed Samantha about her purse and its contents and he was paying for that choice now. "Miss Crawford, sorry for the mix-up. Clancy never gave me a description of the woman that shot him. I just assumed . . . . . "

Samantha finally spoke up. "And you just naturally assumed I was a liar," she finished for him.

The lawman smiled sheepishly. "I hate to admit it, but yes ma'am, I did. And I'm sorry for that."

Sam turned to Bart for his opinion. "That's about all you're gonna get, Sam. Might as well accept the apology and move on."

She nodded in agreement. "I'm sure you're right. Very well, Sheriff Estabrook, apology accepted." Back to Bart. "Let's go. I don't like jails." She stood and waited for Bart to get up. He was a little slow and the sheriff read concern in her eyes. He wondered what relationship these two had.

"I don't either," Maverick remarked. He took her by the elbow and guided her to the jail door, which he opened for her. As he turned to leave he tipped his hat to Estabrook. "Sheriff."

Outside Evan Clancy was standing with his horse. "I'm awfully sorry, ma'am, that Aaron made you come all the way here. From New Mexico, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Mr. Clancy, from New Mexico."

Clancy continued, feeling that he had to explain Aaron Estabrook. "I gave him a description at the time, ma'am. Maybe he's forgotten. Sheriff's a good man."

"I'm sure he is, Mr. Clancy. I think he just doesn't like me."

"No, ma'am. It's not you. He's just got an odd way about him. Doesn't like some of the riff-raff in this town. Good day, ma'am." And with that Clancy mounted his horse and rode away.

"What was all that about?" Samantha wondered.

"Don't know," was her escort's reply.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Doesn't what bother me?" He hesitated for just a moment, shifted the cane to his other hand, and leaned on it as he walked. He'd used the cane more today than any time recently and she was concerned that something was troubling him that he wasn't discussing.

"The way some people think about gamblers in general and you in particular."

"What, riff-raff? I've been called worse. Does it bother you?"

Yes, it bothered her, but she wouldn't admit it. "No. Shall we go shopping?"

XXXXXXXX

They were standing in the general store and she was trying on a hat. She'd already found a new dress and a riding skirt, and Bart, true to his word, had surprised her. He'd bought two shirts and a tie, and a pair of arm garters. It was the first time she'd ever seen him spend money on anything but food and poker.

"Well, what shall we do now?" he queried her.

"I'm not done shopping!" she protested.

"Yes you are," he laughed. "Let's get a buggy and go somewhere."

"A buggy ride? You are full of surprises today, Mr. Maverick."

"Come on. There's gottta be a livery around here somewhere. We can ask when you buy your clothes." _'Please ask,'_ he thought to himself. His back had been in terrible shape since they started the cross-country journey, and it just kept getting worse. That's where the heavy dependence on the cane was coming from. He was not about to tell Sam anything about it.

"Alright. If that's what you want to do."

"It is."

Sam paid for her purchases and asked the clerk about a livery stable. There was one right down the street, the clerk pointed out. She and Bart took their packages and headed that way.

An hour later they were in the St. Joe countryside, headed for a small lake the livery owner had given them directions to. They had a basket of food and a blanket with them, and Bart handling the reins, hoping the movement in his shoulders would help stretch his back out.

Samantha was happy to be out in the sunshine and not trapped inside a dreary stagecoach. She still didn't know where she and Bart were headed, literally or figuratively, but she was willing to hang on and see what happened. Now that the mix-up with Clancy, Estabrook and the Samantha Crawford imposter was settled, they could spend some time just being together.

Bart saw the lake up ahead that he was looking for and headed the horse for the north shore, where there was a small grove of red maples and willow oaks. A perfect place to spread out the blanket and lie down. And maybe catch up on some of the sleep he'd missed last night.

Which is just what he was about to do after they'd eaten. He was lying on his back, on the very edge of sleep, when Sam asked him a question out of the blue. He struggled to stay awake enough to answer her.

"How long do you want me to stay?"

"Hmmmm? Oh, as long as you can." What did she have to hurry back to? The cattle were sold and the house was being rebuilt. All things Jess and Randy could certainly handle.

"When are you going to look for a poker game?"

"Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow night. Not sure yet." He rolled over onto his side and was surprised to be looking into Sam's face. When had she lain down? She was certainly beautiful, and he traced the lines of her cheeks and lips with his finger. Then he kissed her, softly, and felt her sigh.

"When are you coming home to the ranch?"

It was not the question he'd expected. When had the ranch become home to Samantha? Sometime after the fire burned the house down, he suspected. She'd actually considered selling the place – now it sounded like she had no intention of leaving it. "I'm not, Sam."

"What does that mean? Never? You're never coming back?" There was fear in her voice and fear in her heart.

He hadn't been ready to share his answer with her, not yet. It was something that he'd figured out somewhere along the way to St. Joe. He couldn't go back, not if he was ever going to be free of Caroline. She was everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned. Even with the house burned to the ground, she was there. "I can't come back, Sam. I can't find any peace there. I should have figured it out sooner. There's no room in my heart for anyone but her when I'm there. If we have any kind of a chance to make this work you have to stay out here with me. Maybe not traveling forever; maybe there's someplace to settle down. But not Dry Springs." He thought about Silver Creek. _'Maybe in Montana. With some of the family.' _

Somehow she knew. She'd heard it in his voice; seen it in his eyes. The ghost of Caroline still haunted her husband when he was at the Double C Ranch. The only place on earth he couldn't stand to be. The only place on earth she couldn't stand to be away from.


	22. Chapter 22 Last Will and Testament

Carry Me Home

Chapter 22 – Last Will and Testament

There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, and she knew it. When Bart told her he was never going back to the Double C Ranch, she finally realized it was the end. Sometime, somehow, the land had gotten into her blood, just like it had gotten into all the Crawford's, and she couldn't leave it. Not even for a life with Bart Maverick. No matter how much she loved him, she loved the ranch more.

She hadn't had a home since she was orphaned. And that had been a long time ago. By some act of misfortune, she had one now. And it was hers. Bart had given it to her, and she was not going to give it up or sell it for any man. Not even the love of her life.

So when she and Bart returned from their buggy ride that afternoon, she knew what she had to do. She went to the stage line and bought a ticket for Santé Fe, New Mexico. For the very next day.

Nothing was going to change her mind, so she didn't tell him she was leaving. He probably already knew it was for the best; he'd probably known all along and just didn't want to admit it. When he left the hotel to play poker that night he'd come by her room first, to let her know he'd found a game he wanted in on. He most likely wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. They stood inside the door to her room as he explained all this to her; it was nothing she didn't already know. She touched his face and looked into his dark eyes; there was none of the pain and heartache she'd seen there so many times. She traced his lips with her fingers, the way he'd done to her out by the lake, and kissed him for the last time.

"I'll see you in the morning, Sam," he told her. "I'll come by and we can get breakfast. Alright with you?"

"Sure." It was his own favorite answer. "I'll see you."

"Good-night, Samantha."

"Good-night, Bart," she responded. She watched him walk down the hall and use the cane to navigate the stairs. "Good-bye, Bart Maverick," she whispered when she knew he was too far away to hear her. She went into her room to pack.

XXXXXXXX

The poker game did last all night, but Bart came out almost three thousand dollars ahead. It was still fairly early and he didn't want to wake Sam at this hour, so he went back to the hotel and, as he had so many times before, laid down on the bed mostly dressed and fell asleep almost instantly. Sam was already up and finishing her packing as she heard him walk past her room, hoping that he wouldn't stop for her yet. She knew that if she saw him she wouldn't have the strength to leave. When she was ready to go she tiptoed very quietly down the hall, pausing outside of his door. She ran her hand over the wood, needing to feel close to him one more time. "Good-bye, darlin'. I love you." She continued down the hall and the steps to the first floor.

She climbed into the stage coach after handing the driver her bag. The coach waited for a few minutes to see if anyone else was boarding, and when no one came the driver finally started the team, headed for Santé Fe. She looked out at the hotel, up at the window that was Bart's, and blew him one last kiss. "Good-bye, Bart Maverick. Have a good life." Then she said to no one in particular, "Carry me home, boys. Carry me home."


	23. Epilogue

Carry Me Home

Epilogue

Three days later he got a telegram from Anderson Garrett. It hadn't been the best three days of his life once he realized Samantha had gone back to New Mexico and left him in Missouri. There was no letter of explanation; just a brief note that read _'I love you. I have to go home. Samantha.'_

He spent those three days playing poker almost non-stop and trying to erase the beautiful southern charmer from his consciousness. It didn't work very well, and he had plenty of time to struggle to understand exactly why she left. The concept of 'loving the land' was something foreign to him; how could you love something that you couldn't hold in your arms and kiss good-night? But it was painfully obvious that's exactly what drove Sam back to Dry Springs and the Double C Ranch. He'd sealed their fate when he told her he wasn't ever going back there.

Did he love her? He still wasn't sure. Was it love or just familiarity and comfort that he felt around Sam? It was a way to keep Caroline close without having to face the things she'd loved. He cared deeply about Samantha – he always had. But love? That was a puzzle he might never solve.

And then Anderson's telegram. It was like a gift from above, the balm to heal his wounded heart. It read simply:

_Please come to Carson City._

_Urgent._

_I have a problem child._

_Need your help._

_Anderson_

With nothing to keep him in St. Joseph, he packed his bag and bought a stage coach ticket. Who knew what might await him in Nevada? Maybe something to clear his mind and give him a fresh start. Maybe even someone. Time to put the past away, all of it, and get on with the rest of his life. His life. No one else's.

As he boarded the coach the next day, one of the ladies he helped onboard was carrying a beautiful red flower in full bloom. Didn't see many of those in the desert where he was going, and for some reason it gave him hope. It was a rose.


End file.
